Auror Commander
by O'Shea
Summary: In the aftermath of Operation Wrath of Merlin, Harry leaves the Department of Mysteries and joins the Auror Office, as Ginny begins her rookie season with the Holyhead Harpies. Both have their own paths to take, and new challenges to overcome. But paths have a way of crossing, and Harry and Ginny may find that their greatest challenge is each other.
1. Yours to Command

A/N: For those of you who haven't read _Wrath of Merlin, _I suggest you read that first, as this story is the sequel. For those of you who have, welcome to Act II.

There are political elements to this story - I've never read anything that really takes on the political intricacies of the Ministry, and I have a background in political science, so I thought I'd give it a shot. You'll find allusions to Parliament and Congress, amongst other political institutions. As the story unfolds, I'll make a point of explaining the various roles and elements. In equal measure, I'll also explore the details of professional Quidditch - and the British and Irish League.

Narrative is mostly third-person - however, on occasion, I'll write from first-person if I specifically want to tell the story from their point-of-view.

* * *

**AUROR COMMANDER**

_a Harry &amp; Ginny story_

—

**I. Yours to Command**

"The object of war is not to die for your country, but to make the other bastard die for his."

– General George Patton

Harry Potter woke to the sound of a phone ringing.

"Good morning sir, this is your five o'clock wake up call."

He put the phone back down, and reached for his glasses. Blinking, he peered at the drab surroundings of the Muggle hotel he was staying in, and slowly got out of bed.

One scalding hot shower later, he changed and packed his possessions into a trunk that had seen decidedly better days.

Resolving to find more permanent accommodation in the next few days, Harry checked out of the hotel, and made his way to a small cafe for breakfast.

Through mouthfuls of bacon and a slice of toast, Harry considered the decision he'd been forced to make by Kingsley.

It'd taken him all weekend and a sleepless Saturday night to decide, but now he was ready. Leaving a few pounds on the table, Harry, careful to not place too much pressure on his injured leg, made his way onto the street. Allowing a quick stop to purchase a hot drink from a street vendor, Harry headed towards the Ministry of Magic.

As he reached the Atrium, Harry donned his cloak, pulling the hood over his head. He wanted to avoid being seen by too many people. Stepping out of a fireplace in a flash of green flames, he headed towards the registration desk.

"Good morning sir," a witch greeted, not bothering to look up from her copy of the _Daily Prophet._

"Morning," he replied, his face obscured partially by the hood.

"Your wand?"

He rested his wand on the counter as she flipped the paper back to the front page. Harry smirked as he saw an image of himself occupying the main article.

"Name and purpose of visit?" she asked.

"Potter, to see the Minister for Magic."

The witch froze, and looked up, her face a mix of shock and disbelief.

"Harry Potter?"

"Yes."

To her credit, she quickly regained her composure. Pressing a small red button, she spoke into a receiver on her desk.

"Please inform the Minister that Harry Potter has just arrived."

The witch directed him towards a silver doored lift that Harry knew would take him directly to the Minister's offices. He got in, and grabbed for a handhold as the lift shot upwards.

Kingsley was waiting outside the lift when the doors reopened on Level One.

"Harry, it's very good to see you," he grinned.

"Careful Kingsley, you can't be doing your job right if you're happy about something," Harry replied wryly, shaking the Minister's proffered hand.

The Auror-turned-politician let out a hearty laugh as they made their way down the hall.

"Please Harry, I just want to see the look on the faces of the Press Corps when I make the announcement. I'm expecting something along the lines of collective apoplexy."

"What about the Wizengamot?"

"This will do them good. If I'm in luck, half of them will die of shock."

"You don't think they'll try to overrule you on my appointment?"

"If they do, they won't succeed. You still have high public support."

"High public support?"

"We ran a poll on the public's perception of you over the weekend."

"You ran a _poll?_"

"This is politics."

Kingsley opened the door to his office, and Harry walked in, taking a seat in a chair opposite the Minister's desk.

"I just need you to sign these papers, and then we'll head down to the Auror Office. They're the same as the ones I sent by owl on Saturday."

Harry took a quill and scrawled his signature on the parchment. It gave a golden glow as he finished his name.

"Welcome to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," said Kingsley, a slight tone of satisfaction in his voice.

"Don't be too excited, Kingsley. I might be absolute rubbish at this."

"You were Captain of your Quidditch Team, right?"

"Yes, but how does Quid-"

"Then you've got nothing to worry about. Let's head down."

* * *

"Run!"

_Nearly there._

"Come on, ladies, this isn't a dance floor! This is professional Quidditch!"

Ginny ran, trying to ignore the pounding ache in her chest.

"Stop!"

Gwenog Jones glared at the group of women, twenty-three in all, as they caught their breath.

"We run ten miles three times a week. The fitter you are, the better you play. And what happens to those who play the best?"

"They win!" we chorused.

"This weekend, we take on the Wasps at Exmoor. I intend to start two rookie Chasers and one rookie Beater. But only if they prove themselves in training. Sure, it's a preseason game. It won't effect the outcome of the season, right?"

"WRONG!" she bellowed.

"The difference between winners and losers in this league is simple. Ask a winner if they think every game matters, and I guarantee you the answer will be yes. Winners, not losers, appreciate the value of every second of game time. Weasley! Why is that?"

Ginny swallowed, and answered.

"Because a second can make all the difference."

Gwenog narrowed her eyes, but then nodded approvingly to Ginny's relief.

"Not bad, Weasley. You're right! A second can change the outcome of a game. A game can change the outcome of a season. A season can change the outcome of a career. Your legacy is at stake, ladies, every time you fly onto that pitch!"

* * *

Several of the senior Aurors had gathered in one of the briefing rooms they used for missions. The room was bare aside from a row of stout wooden chairs and a couple of tables.

Other Ministry Departments trended towards the ostentatious, but simple and spartan suited this group just fine.

"Shacklebolt intends to name a new Commander," remarked Albion Stark, a stout man with a greying beard and a twisting scar that ran the length of his right forearm.

"It should be you, Albion. Or Tiberius. You both ranked just as high as Kingsley did when Scrimgeour was the Commander," Marcus Savage replied.

"Agreed," added John Proudfoot.

"It is a fine honour, but it is not our decision to make," replied Tiberius. "It lies, as always, with the Minister. Only way around it is if the Wizengamot overrules the appointment."

"We should submit both of you as candidates for the position," suggested Siobhan O'Reilly. "Then Kingsley can choose between you."

A sharp knock on the door interrupted the conversation and the voice of an Auror Trainee came through.

"Minister Shacklebolt is here. He wants a word with everyone."

* * *

The Aurors gathered in the main office, a large open space divided into cubicles. The group of Trainees, not having cubicles of their own, stood together in a corner.

Kingsley stood before them, but most of their attention was directed at the person who accompanied the Minister: Harry Potter.

Looking out at the assembled faces of the Aurors, Harry noticed with disappointment that a considerable number had looks of scepticism and distrust, if not outright dislike.

"For a couple of weeks now, I have put off naming a new Auror Commander. Now, that time has come," announced Kingsley. "I have chosen Harry Potter to succeed Gawain Robards as the Auror Commander."

"WHAT?" shouted one of the Aurors, shocked disbelief written plain as day across his face.

Others too, were voicing similar objections.

"He's not one of us!"

"We can't trust him!"

Harry raised his hands in a placating gesture.

"I know I-"

"He knows fuck all about the Auror Office!"

"And you didn't know how to beat Tom Riddle, but I did!" Harry shouted back, frustrated. "I DID!"

They were silent now, some refusing to look at him. Harry cleared his throat and continued.

"How many of you were there when I killed Voldemort? I'm not sure I recognise many faces."

"Have any of you ever seen a Basilisk?"

"A Basilisk?" Tiberius asked.

"Have you?" Harry pressed.

"No," answered the Auror.

"I have. When I was twelve. I killed it with the sword of Godric Gryffindor," the young man replied.

"A year later, when I was thirteen, Remus Lupin taught me how to cast a Patronus Charm. I used it to repel a swarm of Dementors in assisting the escape of Sirius Black, who was coincidentally both your number one target and my Godfather."

"I was thirteen, and the entire MLE couldn't catch him. _You_ couldn't catch him."

"He died when I was fifteen, protecting me against Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries. He was doing _your_ job, right under your fucking noses!"

The room was so quiet you could scarcely hear the occupants breathing.

Harry looked around, as if daring someone to make eye contact, and then continued.

"This last year, I was a part of a clandestine special operation formed to hunt down and kill Death Eaters."

He paused.

"You may have read about it in the papers."

This earned a light chuckle from the room.

"Some of you, I know. You came to my aid, trusted in me when I was betrayed by V. We fought alongside each other. You believed in me then. I'm asking you to believe in me now. I may do things differently. I know little of how you've run things in the past, but I'm a quick learner."

"I am your Commander."

The room was still.

No one made a move, or spoke.

Then Siobhan O'Reilly stood, looking him in the eye and lifted two fingers to her forehead in the Auror salute.

"We are yours to Command," she replied with conviction.

Other Aurors stood around her, repeating her words and her actions.

"We are yours to Command."

"We are yours to Command."

"Done then," replied Harry, returning the salute.

But not every Auror had stood. Around a third of the room had remained seated in protest to his appointment, and the thunderous faces of Albion Stark and Tiberius Hawke were among them.

Harry gave a quiet sigh.

Nothing was ever easy.

* * *

"What the fuck are you playing at, Siobhan?" Stark exclaimed.

The witch glared at him.

"What do you mean?"

"You siding with Potter! 'We are yours to Command' - what happened to supporting me and Tiberius?"

The Irish witch slammed her stack of paper down on the desk.

"I've got every bloody right to my own opinion, Albion. Potter was _right. _In comparison to him, we were next to useless in the war. _We _should be thanking him for accepting the Command!"

"I don't fucking believe this! He changed your mind in under a minute? He's just a boy!"

"You were there, Albion. He's as much a boy as you are! You felt his magic, saw how he fights! He left childhood a long time ago. And for the record, just because I think you or Tiberius would make good Commanders, it doesn't exclude me from thinking the same of Potter!"

"It still doesn't make him an Auror! He doesn't know us, Merlin knows what kind of training he's done…he's an outsider!"

"You don't think he belongs?"

"I've made it pretty bloody clear that I don't."

"Put him on the floor. Training Room One. Let's see him last the Gauntlet," Siobhan suggested.

"What will that prove?"

"If he beats it, then he's as good as any other Auror and deserves to be here."

"And when he fails?"

"Then we'll know for certain he's just human."

Albion made a sound of disgust.

"Fine. For the time being, he's your problem, Siobhan - whilst he lasts. Best show him where his office is, hmm?"

The brunette witch ignored the sardonic remark of her colleague and watched him stalk off. Her better judgement ruled against this. To her head, the very idea of Harry Potter becoming the Auror Commander was surely ludicrous. But her gut felt differently. Her gut instinct was to trust him.

And in a business where gut instinct meant the difference between life and death, Siobhan O'Reilly knew better than to go against her gut.

* * *

Harry followed Kingsley into a large office.

"This is yours."

Harry gave a low whistle.

A large oaken desk was flanked by a chair on either side, and a larger leather seat behind it. Bookshelves lined the walls, but sat mostly empty.

"You'll be able to select a range of materials from the Aurors' Library, and bring any magical instruments you may own as well."

But Harry had barely heard what Kingsley was saying. His attention was focused on the shining broadsword mounted on the wall behind his desk.

"That sword…I don't believe it."

"It is as the inscription states. The original Excalibur. It's a magical blade, Harry, of great power. This office is the safest - and most fitting place for it."

"It's _Excalibur_. Muggles still talk about this blade. To them, it's a myth," Harry said.

"To us, it is very, very real," Kingsley replied, then check his watch.

"I have another appointment. I'm sure I'll see you later today."

Kingsley exited as a new figure arrived: Siobhan O'Reilly. The brunette witch had tied her hair in a messy bun, and wore a proud expression on her features.

"O'Reilly, right?" he greeted her.

"Call me Siobhan," she replied in her Irish lilt.

Harry nodded.

"Alright Potter, let's get you set up proper. Firstly, you have two assistants, both third-year Trainees. In addition, you also have two secretaries. The Trainees will give you all the basics you need to know about us, the secretaries will organise your schedule, your meetings, and keep you on time. I suggest visiting them in MLE reception later today. They will decide who gets to see you."

"Why can't I?"

"Because then you'd waste time deciding who to see, and we can't afford that."

"So I have _four_ people looking after me?" Harry asked.

Siobhan blinked.

"You're the Auror Commander, not one of the bloody imbeciles who works in Accidents and Catastrophes. Yes, you have four people."

"Next: you give a daily security briefing to the Minister. This is prepared for you to review. It's the first thing on your desk each morning. A written report is also given to the Department Heads - but does not contain classified information. You have regular appointments with the Department Heads, and a daily meeting with the Head of the MLE."

"Question: when do I actually do some work?" Harry interjected.

"You're too important to waste on the basic stuff, so I doubt you'll do much in the way of protection detail or regular investigative work with the MLE. That's the job of the rank and file."

"I joined the Auror Office to hunt down Dark Wizards."

"And you will do that, Harry. But this position is so much more than what you did in Wrath of Merlin. You lead this Office. The lives of everyone who is part of it are your responsibility. I want you to understand that," Siobhan said.

Harry nodded, suddenly feeling ashamed.

"I'm sorry, I guess I didn't know what quite to expect."

"I understand. Hell of a thing Kingsley wants you to do. He's right, in many ways. The Office is broken. We need to become more efficient. We need to become stronger. You saw earlier how few Aurors we actually have. About a third of our Trainees would be accepted into the Auror ranks under ordinary circumstances, but the graduation rate may reach half."

"What happens to the rest?"

"They get good references for other positions. Most of those will actually reach the requirements needed to pass training, but won't choose to become Aurors. It's seen as a waste of three years by some, but the opportunity for further advancement is highly valued."

"I assume that everyone has specific assignments?"

"Yes. Proudfoot and Jacobs are currently running the protection details. Savage is looking after most of the Trainee work, but we all spend time with them. I teach guerrilla warfare and counter-assault. Stark and Hawke are after a group who've brought a bunch of cauldrons into the country."

"I assume that they're filled with something?"

"We reckon it's Living Death."

"Lovely. What do you do?" Harry asked.

"Well for now, Commander, it looks like I'm looking after you."

* * *

Ginny flung the Quaffle with all her might at the left hoop.

"Too slow, Red!"

Gwenog flew over, motioning for her to land.

"Weasley, do you want to start this weekend?" she questioned.

"Of course!" Ginny replied.

"Prove it! Where's the Chaser that broke a scoring record in her last Hogwarts game?" her captain asked, launching back into the air as a Bludger approached.

_There's a vast bloody difference between Hogwarts and the League, Gwenog._

Ginny bit back her retort and kicked back into the air.

* * *

Harry made his way into Kingsley's office, a scowl darkening his features.

"It's my first bloody day and they're already trying to get rid of me!"

"So I hear," Kingsley replied entirely too calmly for Harry's liking.

"I just heard Eveline O'Donnell ranting to a _Prophet _reporter. The Wizengamot are trying to overrule your appointment. They're ordering a special vote! I thought you said I had public support!"

There was a knock on the door, and a secretary poked his head in.

"The Wizengamot has been brought to session."

"Thank you. Is the Press Corps present?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. That's all."

Kingsley turned back to Harry.

"Harry, this is the one I've been waiting for. We'll get the votes. I will make those bastards affirm you if it's the last thing I do. Shaw, Magellan, Hopkirk, bloody Eveline O'Donnell - they can complain all they like, but you're keeping this office."

"Easy for you to say. You're not in any danger of going down in the history books as the shortest-serving Auror Commander ever."

"Please Harry, when they put your name in the history books, I think they'll have more important things to write about you," Kingsley replied.

Another secretary entered.

"Sir, Councillor O'Donnell is making a statement."

With a flick of his wand, Kingsley tuned the radio.

"_...I urge my fellow members of the Wizengamot to join me in rejecting this pretender to the Auror Office! Minister Kingsley shows both great nepotism and irresponsibility in appointing Harry Potter, who I might add is pending investigation for illegal activities in the covert Operation Wrath of Merlin, to the position of Auror Commander. This Wizengamot will not stand for it! I, personally believe that…"_

Kingsley, making a sound of disgust, cut off the wireless.

"I'm going to go down and pummel some sense into them. Wanna watch?"

"Sure."

* * *

Kingsley led the way down to the Wizengamot Chamber.

"Now, I will speak in your defence - they're attacking my appointment of you, rather than you directly, so I have to convince them that the right choice was made."

"Was it?" Harry asked.

Kingsley stopped, and looked at the young wizard, his eyes betraying nothing of his thoughts.

"Yes."

They continued, and then paused at the entrance to the Chamber.

"Magellan is presiding today. Follow me in, and take a seat on the left. Follow my lead," instructed Kingsley.

"Follow your lead?" Harry questioned, but Kingsley had already begun to enter.

"Councillors of the Wizengamot, please rise for the Minister for Magic!"

The members of the Wizengamot stood in unison as Kingsley, robes flowing, strode into the Chamber. Harry followed, and took a seat that an undersecretary guided him towards.

No sooner had Harry sat down when Magellan began speaking.

"Minister, Council has been summoned to affirm your appointment of Harry James Potter as the Auror Commander. As is my right as Presiding Warlock, I have decided that the matter is to be considered under urgency. We will now hear representative statements from each side, and then vote. I therefore invite Senior Warlock Shaw to the floor to deliver the dissent."

Shaw stood and tapped his wand to his throat.

"Thank you, Warlock. Today, assembled councillors, I represent significant opposition to the Ministerial appointment of Harry James Potter as the Auror Commander. A mere boy cannot run the Auror Office. A mere boy cannot keep us safe. A mere boy cannot possibly think that he will be supported in such a deluded endeavour."

"You have heard Councillor O'Donnell speak on the blatant favouritism the Minister has shown a close friend and ally - someone who supports the agenda of the Minister, someone who lacks an objective opinion in the role of Commander. There is no denying that Harry Potter is very much one of the Minister's men!"

"Operation Wrath of Merlin was a grave misdemeanour, an unprecedented abuse of Ministerial power. Are we to reward such behaviour by handing over more power, without question? Nay, I say! I vote nay!"

"I request Council to overrule this appointment immediately."

"Minister Shacklebolt, the floor is yours," Magellan said as Shaw sat down.

"Let me ask you, Warlock Shaw, who would you have run the Auror Office? Is the man who defeated Tom Riddle not good enough for you? Is the man who spent a year covertly fighting a war to bring remaining Death Eaters to justice not good enough for you? I wonder, in fact, whether Merlin himself would be of an acceptable standard, so high your requirements seem to be!"

A round of laughter passed through the Chamber, and he smirked.

"Harry Potter is no mere boy. He is one of the finest wizards of our time. And he is the right choice."

"Now, I believe a simple majority is all that is required to determine affirmation or rejection of my appointment. Warlock Magellan asks the matter to be considered under urgency, and I agree. The position of Auror Commander has gone too long unfilled. Let the votes be cast!"

"Objection!"

A murmur of confusion ran around the Chamber.

The wizard who had stood was none other than Magnus O'Brien.

"Warlock, what is the meaning of this?" Magellan asked.

O'Brien spread his hands, and looked around the Chamber.

"I merely have a small objection," he replied placatingly.

A round of laughter went through the Chamber. O'Brien's objections were rarely small.

"Go on."

"The vote cannot be taken by this Chamber with fair consciousness until we formally welcome our brother to our number. I am talking about, of course, Mr Potter."

O'Brien turned to look directly at Harry.

"House Potter has sat on the Wizengamot for over three hundred years. His is a Noble House, and thus holds a permanent seat."

"The Potter vote hasn't been exercised in twenty years!" said Shaw.

"Well, I daresay the fact that James Potter was murdered close to twenty years ago might have something to do with that, Warlock," O'Brien replied.

"Warlock O'Brien is correct," Magellan replied, his face an unreadable mask. It was impossible for Harry to tell whether or not the Presiding Warlock approved.

"Harry Potter, please rise."

Harry did.

"Stand forth."

Harry walked into the middle of the Chamber.

"Your oath is magically binding. Please repeat after me: I, Harry Potter, do swear that I will well and truly serve this Council, and I will do so rightfully, in a manner just and in accordance with the magical law as laid down by the First Wizards."

I recited Magellan's words.

"And do you swear to serve the magical peoples of Wizarding Britain, to lead and guide them, and from dissension, corruption, and darkness guard them so long as you draw breath?"

"I swear."

"Then in the name of Merlin, rise to the Wizengamot, Councillor Harry Potter."

* * *

_Ginny_

The scalding water cascaded over me and I let out a long sigh. My body was already sore from training just one day. How would I feel after a week?

I wrapped a towel around myself and headed to the dressing room. I arrived to find a few of my teammates gathered around a wireless.

"Listen to this, Ginny. They're talking about your boyfriend," said one of my teammates with a teasing grin.

"He's not my boyfriend," I replied, before taking a seat and listening in.

"…_in what is being described as masterful political manoeuvring, Minister Shacklebolt today enjoyed a double success in affirming Harry Potter as the new Auror Commander, and landing a blow on Senior Warlock Shaw's credibility. Tonight we have Ministry Press Corps reporter Jessica Whitley, on the latest from inside the Chamber._

_To our listeners out there, let me describe how the Minister went about guaranteeing Harry Potter's appointment. He had Harry Potter sworn in to the Wizengamot. Here it is here:_

"_Then in the name of Merlin, rise to the Wizengamot, Councillor Harry Potter."_

_At home, you may be wondering how Harry becoming a Wizengamot member would help his appointment to the Auror Office. Let me explain. One of the unspoken rules, if you like, of the Wizengamot is that they never refuse the appointments of fellow Councillors. In fact, the last time a Wizengamot Councillor was overruled to a Ministerial appointment was 1688. And with Harry Potter becoming one of their own, what was initially significant opposition to his appointment quickly disappeared, with only eleven Councillors voting against…"_

"Your boyfriend's the Auror Commander and a Wizengamot Councillor. Impressive."

I scowled at her, but her grin only grew wider.

* * *

It was much later. The Auror Office was mostly empty now, as most had departed for the night.

"What do we have on Julius Creedy?" Harry asked Siobhan as he took a seat at her cubicle.

"Erm, just the MLE file. I daresay you know everything we know already," she replied.

"I'd like to see it anyway."

"Are you going to go after him?

"He's a loose end. We need to bring him in."

She nodded.

"I'll have someone bring it to you."

"Thanks."

Harry stood and made his way to his new office, where he turned the wireless on and began to idly flick through the channels.

"…_they could do with some improvement to their defence. I just don't see how the Wasps can…"_

"…_the great Muggle Prime Minister, Winston Churchill, who…"_

"…_that was Warbeck's manager, announcing her new tour…"_

"…_you're on WWN Two with myself, Rick Summers, and we've got our wand on the pulse of everything going on in the Wizarding World!"_

"_Look, how was your Monday? Not too bad? Back into work? Not too different from mine, then, I suppose. But you know who had a GREAT Monday?"_

"_Harry Potter!"_

Harry paused in the motion of changing channel and sat down at his desk.

"_My sources tell me that by ten o'clock this morning, Harry had been named as the new Auror Commander. Incredible! The youngest ever Commander, who ever lived or will ever live. Sensational stuff!"_

"_But barely hours into his job, Harry is besieged by his ultimate foe. No, I'm not talking about You-Know-Who, I'm referring to, of course, the Wizengamot."_

The studio audience gave a roar of laughter as a clip of Shaw's dissent played through the wireless.

"_Well, there's an unhappy wizard. So what is Harry to do? Well, he and the Minister march into the Wizengamot Chamber, and demands to be sworn in to the Wizengamot itself! He's fighting the good fight from within, folks! Such daring! Such…"_

_Knock knock._

Harry cut the wireless off.

"Come in!"

A nervous looking MLE secretary entered.

"Sir, from Miss O'Reilly, the file you requested on Julius Creedy."

"Thanks," Harry replied, taking it.

The secretary stammered a 'You're welcome' and hurriedly left.

As the blade Excalibur glinted in the magical light behind him, Harry opened the file and began to read.

* * *

A/N: A lot of exposition to get the ball rolling, but if you've read Wrath of Merlin then you'll know that the action will be coming fast and furious. Let me know what you think so far.


	2. The Gauntlet

A/N: I am very much aware that this chapter is later than I'd hoped, but unfortunately, I've had to juggle writing with the other commitments in my life. Thanks a lot for your patience, and kind reviews of the first chapter of _Auror Commander_. And now, for your reading pleasure...

**II. The Gauntlet**

"Courageous people do not fear forgiving for the sake of peace."

– Nelson Mandela

* * *

Upon seeing two Muggle policemen at the top of the wharf, Julius Creedy ducked into a side alley near the waterfront, and skulked behind a set of bins overflowing with rancid waste.

The Muggle Police had been on the lookout for him, of course - but they were easy enough to evade. The MLE, on the other hand, were a lot more difficult, and every time he used magic, the net closed a little tighter.

The other hand.

Julius Creedy did not consider himself a man with a sense of humour, but he couldn't help but let his lips twitch in sardonic amusement at his train of thought.

The pain of having his arm literally _torn_ off at the shoulder was not something the Death Eater was going to forget in a hurry.

Then again, Creedy was not the sort of man who forgot things.

He needed to get out of the country, that much was certain. He had associates in Eastern Europe that could grant him safe harbour.

Then, after he healed, he would seek out the last of the sleeper agents, and plot his revenge.

He fished a rolled-up copy of the _Daily Prophet _from the empty sleeve of his jersey.

There he was, in a picture covering the front page:

Harry Potter, swearing an oath of fealty to the magical peoples of Wizarding Britain as both a newly minted Wizengamot Councillor and the Auror Commander.

Creedy made a noise of disgust. Potter's new job might be impressive to some, but not to him.

After all, it wouldn't be the first time he'd faced an Auror Commander.

* * *

A group of photographers were waiting as Harry entered the Atrium on his second day.

_Flash. Flash flash flash._

"Harry! Harry!"

_Flash._

"How was your first day?"

"What do you have planned for the Aurors?"

Harry paused at the entrance to the lift waiting to take him to Level Two, and turned to face the reporters, squinting as bulbs continued to flash in his face.

"No comment."

The lift let off a high-pitched _ding_ and Harry stepped aboard, followed by several paper planes.

The lift jerked sideways, and then ascended sharply, before another _ding_ announced his arrival at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Harry stepped out and walked straight past the line of people waiting at the security desk to be cleared through. One of the wizards called out.

"Excuse me, sir, you'll have to join the line with…" his voice trailed off as he realised who he was talking to.

Harry kept walking.

The entrance to the Auror Office was the epitome of imposing. Two great iron doors, carved and spelled with ancient runes, stood open. Harry felt the subtle shift in his magical energy as he passed through the wards.

The Auror Office was fronted with a small reception, and Harry gave a nod of greeting to the wizard stationed there, before continuing to the main floor.

A wide flight of stairs led down to the main floor, filled with cubicles. A smaller flight of stairs led upwards to a balcony that ran around the room. Several offices - including Harry's own - led from the balcony.

Harry entered his office to find someone already occupying it.

"Good morning sir," greeted the witch, a striking blonde with a slight figure and pale blue eyes. She wore the robes of an Auror Trainee.

"Er, who are you?"

"Sorry sir, my name is Kara Albright. Third-year Trainee. I was assigned by O'Reilly to be your executive assistant."

Harry shook her proffered hand.

"Right, what have I got?"

"A session with the first and second year Trainees this morning."

"Okay."

"And -" she made a face before quoting from the sheet in front of her "- a preliminary meeting on security protocols for the Italian delegation's meeting with the Department of Magical Trade."

He looked at her in disbelief.

"That's seriously what it's called?"

"Welcome to the Ministry for Magic."

"Your schedulers have given you the afternoon to get your affairs from Gringotts. They have the title deeds to your properties."

"That should be a pleasant visit," Harry replied wryly.

The witch gave him a curious look.

"How did you do it? I mean, I know the stories and the dragon…but just…how?

Harry gave her a small grin.

"It's a long story. I'll tell you another time. When's this training thing?"

"Eleven. It's called the Gauntlet. Oh, you can expect an audience too."

"Why?"

"No one's ever beaten the Gauntlet on the first go. Word's gotten around the MLE, and some reckon you'll do it."

"What do you think?"

"It's not my place to-"

"Speak freely. I appreciate honesty."

"I think you'll get knocked on your arse within five minutes. The longest a trainee's ever lasted is nine. It's a fifteen minute firefight."

Harry nodded.

"But in the meantime, sir," the witch added, planting a stack of parchment on his desk, "Read."

* * *

Hermione walked through the iron doors of the Auror Office, feeling the peculiar sensation of the wards washing over her. It wasn't anywhere as severe as _dar-jach_, but Hermione had no doubt that if her intentions were the slightest bit malicious, the wards would not be so kind.

"Miss Granger, welcome," greeted a wizard garbed in MLE robes.

Hermione turned with surprise to the receptionist. Even after a year working part-time with the Ministry, she was not used to being recognised by everyone she encountered.

"Er, I was wondering if Harry - sorry, the _Commander - _is in?"

"One moment."

The wizard spoke into a small receiver, and shortly, a blonde witch in Auror robes approached the reception area.

"Miss Granger, the Commander is happy to see you now."

The rigid formality was already beginning to grate on Hermione's nerves, and she gave the witch a strained smile, before following her.

Despite the fact that half the cubicles stood empty, the main floor was a hive of activity. Hermione ducked as several paper planes swooped overhead, landing at various desks. A hum of conversation flowed through the room.

"This way, Miss Granger," gestured the witch, walking swiftly up a short flight of stairs before stopping outside a large wooden door.

The inscription, laid out in golden letters on the door read:

HARRY J. POTTER  
AUROR COMMANDER

"Please wait here," the witch said, before knocking, entering, and closing the door behind her.

Hermione scowled, but her irritation was replaced by curiosity as she spied a large bulletin board with pictures of Augustus Rookwood and several other Death Eaters plastered over it. The word 'DECEASED' was scrawled in red ink over each portrait.

Another board showed a picture of Harry, with the words 'Wanted for Questioning' printed below. It reminded her of her own research into his whereabouts.

The door opened and the witch cleared her throat.

"Please, come in."

Hermione forced another smile and entered. Everything in the room was so big. Harry sat behind a large oaken desk, with an imposing sword mounted to the wall behind him.

"Thanks Kara."

The blonde witch nodded sharply and left as Harry stood.

"I'm sorry, Hermione."

"Why did you leave, Harry? I get Wrath of Merlin…I mean, I had it figured out months ago, but why didn't you say goodbye?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair.

"When I saw you with Ron after the battle…I couldn't. I couldn't ask you again. You've both already suffered too much by my account."

"You deserve that happiness, Hermione. You and Ron both. What I was doing was too dangerous. I couldn't bear to risk either of you."

The sudden twist of emotion surprised him.

"It's always been our choice, Harry."

"I know, but-"

"We chose to hunt the Horcruxes with you. We chose to fight in the Battle of Hogwarts."

"I couldn't let you do this. I couldn't let you do what I had to do."

Hermione fell silent for a moment, and then spoke again.

"Kingsley sent me a letter after his hearing. He said -"

"- that I would show you some of my memories from Wrath of Merlin," Harry said quietly.

"Yes. Show me."

Harry made a small gesture with his hand, and a cabinet door opened, revealing a Pensieve.

"I don't know what to show you," he admitted, "I thought about it, but I couldn't…I don't know what you'll think, Hermione."

"I don't know what to expect, Harry."

He gave her a sceptical look.

"Well, of course I've thought about it," she defended.

"I just don't want you to think…that I'm like _him._"

"You're not, Harry. You're not like him."

He swallowed, as if forcing himself to accept what she was saying, before leading her to the Pensieve. He twisted his face in thought for a moment, and then pulled a silver strand of memory from his forehead.

"What is it?"

"You'll see."

* * *

_Harry blasted his way into the room, firing off spells before the last splinters had fallen to the floor._

_Expelliarmus. Defodio. Confringo. Protego. Expulso. Avada Kedavra._

_He duelled with a deadly rhythm, simultaneously shielding and cursing, ducking and weaving through the room._

_With a vicious slashing motion of his wand, one Death Eater collapsed to his knees mid-spell, his throat slit open, spurting blood._

_Harry turned, and gouged a fist-sized chunk of flesh from a second Death Eater._

_A third cast black lightning at him, and in one swift motion, Harry redirected it at another, her screams jarring against the sounds of battle as the lightning tore her apart._

_A slashing hex caught Harry's shoulder. Whirling around again, he faced his new attacker:_

_Reducto Mortata!_

_He replied with a curse that exploded the Death Eater's head from his body. A fountain of blood gushed from his neck._

_The sudden blast of an explosion took him from his feet._

_Harry yelled in pain, standing gingerly on his left leg. Smoke and haze filled the room._

_Two shots of bright light shot from the darkness and slammed him into the wall. Figures in black began to materialise before him,_

_Somehow, seemingly finding strength through pure desperation, Harry half-stood, slumped against the wall, and raised his arms, each holding a wand._

_Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra!_

_Like machine gun fire, Harry shot a continuous stream of green light into the blackness._

* * *

_"__Again!"_

_Harry was lying down, his face on the floor, in a large open room deep within the Department of Mysteries._

_Y stood over him, his wand drawn. Kingsley and X sat on chairs at the edge of the room, watching._

_Harry gritted his teeth and pushed himself off the floor, sending a curse flying at Y._

_He brushed it aside as if it were only a minor annoyance, and shot a tongue of fiery light back. Only with a hastily cast Shield Charm did Harry manage to block it._

_His second of hesitation was all that Y needed to slam him into the wall. He grabbed at his chest in pain, and crumpled to the floor for the second time in as many minutes._

_"__We make practice a battle, so that battle is just another practice!"_

* * *

_"__Tell me," Harry began, "why did you side with Tom Riddle? I know you hate Muggle-borns. You know my mother was a Muggle-born. And I know you hate - half-breeds, you call them. Like werewolves. Remus Lupin was a werewolf. His son was orphaned by this war."_

_"__So why?"_

_"__Please, you must understand that I only did it all out of fear, Harry! You must understand that! I could've been killed! What was I to do?" she simpered._

_"__You mustn't tell lies, Umbridge," he said, rising to my feet._

_"__What do you mean?" she said in confusion, backing away from him._

_"__You. Must. Not. Tell. Lies."_

_With his hand, Harry levitated her into the air so that she was eye level with him._

_"__I have become an accomplished Legilimens. I can see into your mind. You don't have any remorse for the people you sentenced to rot here, the families you tore apart, the children you made orphans of."_

_"__I have strength beyond your wildest comprehension now. I know your heart, and it is black. You're evil. Given the opportunity, you would do it all again. You loved the power, loved what you did."_

_He released her, and she fell to the floor._

_"__So the rumours are true…" she murmured._

_"__Rumours?"_

_"__There is talk - I have heard only snippets - that you are hunting. Hunting us. What happens once we're all gone, Harry? What will sate your bloodlust then?"_

_"__I don't have a bloodlust!" he insisted._

_"__Than why are you in my cell?" she asked, a spark of shrewdness behind her eyes._

_"__I don't have a bloodlust," Harry repeated. "What I have is the desire to see justice done."_

_"__And what happens when that desire leads you to become the very thing you hunt?"_

_"__I am nothing like him!" Harry shouted._

_She drew back at his outburst._

_"__I can't forgive you, Umbridge, because to do that would be an insult to the memories of the lives you took away. You committed a heinous crime, and for that your punishment must be equally so."_

_She scuttled towards my feet, grovelling on the filthy cell floor._

_"__Please Harry… give me a second chance…" she begged, her voice sickly sweet._

_"__How many people did you give a second chance to?"_

_"__I…"_

_She could not finish her sentence._

_Harry vanished the chair, and walked out of the cell, locking it with a gesture. The Dementor guarding it shrank away a few inches from his presence, drawing a rattling breath._

_He took a look back at the woman who had caused so much pain to so many._

_"__Do you remember what you did, in the summer before my fifth year?"_

_She didn't answer. _

_"__Funny how things work out sometimes. Goodbye, Umbridge," Harry said simply, then turned back to the Dementor._

_"__Feed."_

_The Dementor glided through the bars of the cell, fixated on the woman cowering in the corner._

_He walked away to the sound of her shrieking, and then, all of a sudden, her shrill cries ceased._

* * *

_Rookwood snapped his fingers and one of his Death Eaters handed him a spherical object._

_"__Do you know what this is, Potter?"_

_He held an orb out in the pale light. It was similar to a Quaffle in size, and had a muted red glow._

_"__You don't?" Rookwood exclaimed with a smirk. He gave a short, barking laugh._

_"__Potter, I'd like to introduce you to another one of Shacklebolt's little secrets. This is the Nostradamus Light."_

_"__See, Shacklebolt feared you, Potter. He feared your power, what you had become. He feared you would succumb to the darkness. And so he took out something of an insurance policy against you, just in case your expedition soured."_

_"__Did he tell you, Potter, that this would be your fate? Used as a weapon, only to be discarded of and disposed by something even more powerful than yourself once you had fulfilled your purpose?"_

_"__You're lying," Harry spat._

_"__No, Harry. I'm giving you the truth. I'm telling you what Shacklebolt wouldn't."_

_"__This is a weapon to end magic! Who else could possibly create something like this? You know what the Department of Mysteries is capable of - just as I do. You must believe me, Harry. Just as Dumbledore planned for you to die, so did Shacklebolt."_

_Rookwood set the orb down with a rueful expression._

_"__Your part in this, at long last, is over."_

_"__You will languish in the Pit for the rest of your days as we pick off the Order of the Phoenix and your pathetic little Army. We will be patient. It does not matter how long it takes. One by one, every person who fought us at Hogwarts, every person responsible for our defeat will die. "_

_He reached inside his robes and pulled out a Quidditch magazine. It was the one with Ginny on it._

_"__I might even pay Ginny Weasley a visit personally."_

_"__Not her…" Harry whispered hoarsely._

_"__I killed her brother, and eventually, I'll be done with her too," Rookwood said, a cruel smile crossing his gaunt face._

_"__And when there is no one left to oppose us, I will take the Ministry. Fear will reign."_

_"__People will rise up against you. You can't take their freedom," Harry insisted._

_"__No, Potter, they won't. I will destroy their trust in the Ministry. I will destroy their hope in you. They will flock to me, fight for me. And for those that still oppose me, I will destroy their faith in their own safety."_

_"__But you will not live to see that happen. You will spend the rest of your life in this hell."_

_"The MLE Stuns prisoners before putting them in here in an attempt to make what they do appear humane. We will offer you no such mercy. The cage will protect you from their Kiss. The misery that the Dementors will inflict on you, from that there is no such protection."_

_"__It is said that most conscious wizards lasted a couple of days down here before they began to go mad. The record, I believe, stands at something like a week. I wonder, Harry Potter, how long you will last?"_

* * *

After what seemed like an age to Harry, Hermione emerged from the Pensieve with a gasp. She exhaled slowly, and turned to look at him. Her eyes were unreadable. And then, without a word, she crossed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him, more fiercely than she ever had.

"Oh, Harry," she whispered.

For some time she held him in her arms, awed by her oldest friend and what he had done, what he had endured, and what he had become.

"If I said I was completely fine with what you've done, I'd be lying," she said, appraising him.

Harry nodded mutely.

"And I'm really not fond of how you used Ginny to lure the Death Eaters in Holyhead."

Harry bowed his head.

"But I can try to understand. And whilst all this might take a bit of getting used to," she added, gesturing at the office, "We've all been through too much for us to split apart. Like it or not, Harry, you're stuck with me."

Relief hit Harry like a wave, and a broad grin crossed his face.

He squeezed her into another hug.

"Thank you."

"Now, I do have some questions…"

Harry laughed.

"Never change, Hermione."

She gave him a grin and - as if to prove his point - went to cast a critical eye over the selection of books he had ordered from the Auror Library.

"You know, this is a nice office."

"Thanks. What have they got you working out of?" Harry asked.

"I've an office too, a bit smaller though. It's cosy," she replied, taking a seat.

"Cosy?"

"I can sit in the middle of it, put a quill in each hand, and write on both walls."

"The downside of having a honest job," Harry smirked.

Hermione looked at her watch and made a face.

"I'm going to be late for a briefing, sorry. But I might be back. Wouldn't want to miss the Auror Commander take on Training Room One."

Harry made a noise of disapproval.

"Does everyone know about that?"

"I think half the Ministry is talking about it."

"Great," Harry replied wryly.

"Thinking about going back undercover?" Hermione teased.

"Don't tempt me."

* * *

It was easy to get lost in London.

Amongst ten million people, what was one more?

Even missing an arm, Creedy was still able to blend in. He had robbed a Muggle apartment for some clothing: jeans, a jersey, and a red cap emblazoned with the letters: 'ARSENAL F.C.'

He pulled out the paper map he carried. His wand would have served better for navigation, but he did not want to risk detection, not when the Ministry presence in the city was so great.

Truth be told, he was not looking forward to this visit. But his motive was born from desperation.

It only took him a few minutes to reach his destination. Walking quickly down a side street, Creedy knocked on the nondescript door. It was opened almost immediately.

"I need to speak to the journeyman."

The man - Creedy could tell he was a Squib - gaped.

"I can't 'ardly believe it!"

"Quiet!" Creedy said in a hushed whisper.

"They said you was alive!"

"Do you want to draw attention to us? Shut it!"

Creedy stepped inside and the Squib closed the door carefully behind him, before leading him down a narrow passageway to a sitting room. The walls were covered in large maps, and on a couch in the corner sat the man Creedy had come to see.

"It's been some time, Eret," Creedy greeted.

Eret was a short, stocky man with a shaven head and shrewd eyes. A number of fat rings adorned his fingers.

"Julius Creedy. This is an unexpected visit," Eret replied, beckoning the Squib to leave.

"I need a boat. Tonight."

"That'll cost you quite dearly."

Creedy drew his wand and pointed it between Eret's eyes.

Eret didn't flinch.

"Please, Julius, you're in no position to bargain with me," he scowled.

"I disagree."

"If you kill me, you won't get your boat, and should you manage to somehow get to France without my assistance, my associates will be waiting for you," Eret replied calmly. "They will skin you alive."

Creedy lowered his wand.

"What's to stop you from calling the Aurors the moment I leave?"

"I am not a political man, Julius, you know that. I make things come and go, but I don't take sides. If Harry Potter himself walked in asking to be smuggled into France then I would have quite happily made the arrangements for him - providing he paid me in advance."

Julius' face darkened.

"I'm a profiteer, Julius, and I don't pretend to be anything else," said Eret. "I've helped a lot of Death Eaters over the years, but I don't believe in the cause."

"You should."

"As I said, Julius, I am not a political man. I have little interest in your war, aside from the fact that it's good for business."

"Now, do you want to get out of England or not?"

* * *

Kara led Harry through the double doors.

"Welcome to Training Room One."

Training Room One. Harry had heard Y discuss it a couple of times in the Department of Mysteries, but he'd never seen it before today. This was where Aurors were made.

The room itself was similar in size to the Great Hall at Hogwarts, with a grandstand along one of the walls. The floor itself was covered in a layer of polished iron, with spell forms and runes carved into the metal.

"Barden himself cast these."

"Impressive. They generate the curses?"

"Yes. Seven wizards feed magical energy into the spellforms," she informed him.

Kara had been right about a crowd. At least sixty people occupied the grandstand and more stood along the wall. Nearly every Auror was there, plus a squadron's worth of Hitwizards, and a number of people from other MLE departments. He spotted Hermione, and she waved.

He looked back at his assistant with a small grin.

"Ten Galleons says I win."

She smirked at him.

"I'll take that bet, sir."

"I'm glad you have so much faith in your Commander."

"You're not a real Auror until you've taken on the Gauntlet sir. Didn't the Minister tell you that?"

"That was one of two things he neglected to mention."

"What was the other?"

"Smart-arse Trainees."

"You're too kind, sir."

A group of seven dressed in white robes approached them, and Kara went to join the audience.

"Mr Potter, if you please?" spoke one.

Harry shrugged off his cloak to reveal the same black tactical gear he'd worn with Wrath of Merlin.

"Stand in the centre, here, please. We go until you're stunned or too injured to continue."

The murmur in the crowd drew to a hush as Harry and the seven took their respective formations.

"We begin when you're ready, Potter."

Harry drew a slow breath, and focused on the seven Aurors facing him from their positions across the room. He released all constraints upon his magical energy, letting it flow through him, letting it radiate from him to every corner of the room, noting with satisfaction the surprised looks on many faces as they sensed his true strength for the first time.

He spoke with clear authority.

"Begin."

The onslaught was immediate. Three curses burst from the floor and made their way to him.

Harry dodged the first and second with sidesteps, and dismissed the third with a sweep of his hand.

But that offered him no reprieve, as more spells crossed the floor. With a twist of his hand, Harry sent them veering away.

A barrage of Stunners erupted from around the arena and converged upon Harry. With another gesture, Harry cast a blue aura over himself that reflected the spells.

The wave of curses continued for another few minutes.

He had not yet drawn his wand.

Kara watched as a torrent of blue flame rushed at Harry. He made a choking motion with his hand. The tongue of flame thrashed about like a beast held at the neck, before Harry subsumed the fire with a burst of magical energy.

A collective gasp came from the grandstand, and the Trainee groaned.

"Shit."

"What's wrong, Albright?" Siobhan O'Reilly questioned her.

"I bet him ten galleons he wouldn't win today."

The older witch smirked.

"Serves you right for doubting him."

Seven streams of pure white light burst forth, and began encircling the floor, with each stream merging into the others as the light grew brighter and brighter.

Harry drew his wand and fired two different blue jets at the stream of light, but they only served to slow it down momentarily as it encircled around him.

And then the white light struck. With two hands on his wand, Harry held the torrential energy at bay with a shimmering golden shield. Shards of energy danced across the room as the white light intensified further, threatening to engulf Harry completely.

The fight now, was surely at an end.

And then a shout came from Harry.

Black lighting exploded from the centre of the room with a deafening shriek.

Dark Magic.

Livid darkness met blazing white light in a titanic clash. Beads of sweat ran down Harry's face is he fought to command the dark energy he had conjured. Hermione realised with shock that the real battle was now between Harry and the Dark Magic.

The darkness continued to rage across the floor, surrounding Harry and the seven Aurors. The room grew dim as the white light disappeared altogether. Harry drew a series of complicated movements in the air with his wand, and a new golden light blazed forth.

A sound like the thunder of cannon shook the room as Harry unleashed blasts of the golden light at the livid darkness. It howled as if alive, as streaks of golden light shot through it. Harry made a motion with his wand, and the light, blazing anew, cut through the darkness with a sweeping arc.

When the haze cleared, Harry was on one knee, his wand still clutched in his hand. His breathing was laboured and his head was bowed.

He raised his head, and Hermione was shocked to see a thin trickle of blood running from his nostrils. Standing slowly, Harry holstered his wand and surveyed the scene.

Three of the wizards in white were unconscious, and two more had also been knocked to the ground. Another was standing shakily.

The applause started sparingly, but then grew as more of the audience joined in, until Hermione found herself on her feet with the trainees and MLE officials around her, cheering.

"What are you playing at?" Proudfoot exclaimed, stalking out onto the floor with a livid expression.

"Withstand and overcome. I did what was necessary."

"We've never used Dark Magic here!" Stark shouted, as he and Tiberius Hawke walked out to join them. Both looked as angry as Proudfoot.

"Maybe that's part of the problem then," Harry replied grimly, staring them down.

The room had quietened, noticing the confrontation.

"Not now, Stark," Hawke said warningly. "Not with an audience."

* * *

The Goblin appraised Harry with beady eyes, and cleared his throat.

"After James Potter was assassinated, the Potter fortune and assets were put into a trust managed by us, with the agreement that this trust would be released to you once you were of age. Due to the events of the last two years, we have not been in a position to do so."

"The key point, Mr Potter, is that with careful goblin management, the Potter fortune has grown at an exponential rate."

"A number of my colleagues, Mr Potter, would like to have you killed in your sleep."

"However, your death would mean the release of your fortune, and the only thing goblins care about more than their pride is money. You are fortunate, Mr Potter, in that you have _a lot _of money."

"Do you have a number?" Harry asked.

The Goblin gave him a look of distaste.

"Of course, but it should not matter to you. Suffice to say, the removal of your wealth from the central reserves would cause a financial crisis."

The Golbin's eyes gleamed as Harry's mouth dropped.

"Here's a list of the properties you own in fee simple. It includes the seat of House Potter: your manor and surrounding lands in the West Country, 110 Diagon Alley, 314 Diagon Alley, the memorial in Godric's Hollow, and 77 on the Rue Magique in Paris. 13 Grimmauld Place and 6 Chancery Lane belong to you also, bequeathed in the Black family name."

"Your paternal grandparents left a great deal of their wealth to charity after they died, Mr Potter. Our records indicate that James Potter declined to live in the manor - his childhood home - but did not wish it sold."

The Goblin handed him a brown paper envelope.

"Here are the keys, and a list of coordinates. The standard wards protecting them will expire at midnight tonight, after which it will no longer be the responsibility of this bank to protect your assets."

* * *

Harry appeared out of thin air with a sharp _crack_.

The red stone walls were covered in creeping vine, and the lawns were overgrown with weeds, but it didn't stop Harry's heart from swelling as he looked upon Potter Manor: his father's childhood home, and the hereditary seat of House Potter.

The mid-afternoon sun shone down on the beautiful old mansion.

He entered through a small bronze gate set in the west wall and hacked a path to the main entrance through the weeds.

As he placed his hand on the door, a pealing bell-like noise rang out. He twisted the handle, and the door opened to him. It was dark inside, and he coughed as dust rose from the floor. The house had been undisturbed for decades.

"_Lumos_."

The floorboards, covered by a rug weary from age creaked as he walked down the main hallway. With a wave of his hand, the lanterns set in alcoves along the hallway sprang to light.

There was something comforting about his paternal home, something warm and welcoming about this place that Harry had never really experienced, not even at Hogwarts.

He was home.

* * *

Ron Weasley was counting Galleons into the register when he heard the chime that announced that someone was on the shop floor of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. His brow creased into a frown; he had been sure the entrance had been locked. Drawing his wand from his robes, he walked out onto the landing to see a hooded man standing in the shop entrance.

His grip tightened around his wand.

"We're closed, sorry."

"I'm not a customer," replied the man as he removed his hood, and Ron's mouth dropped.

He had changed. The haunted look in his eyes was more pronounced, and the small smile his expression had once rested into had become hard and unforgiving.

But there was no mistaking his best friend.

"What? Harry? Why are-"

"I miss my best mate," Harry replied simply.

"Some best mate," Ron scoffed.

"Look-"

"Why didn't you tell me you were leaving? Or what you were doing? Hell, _Dad_ knew and I didn't!"

"Because I knew I wouldn't be able to stop you from joining me," Harry replied sharply.

"I met up with Hermione earlier today, and this is what I said to her. I saw you both together after the Battle. You were both happier than I'd ever seen you before. I couldn't risk that. I wouldn't be able to live with myself."

Ron grunted.

"You're still trotting out that tired excuse. It's always been _our_ choice to come with you."

"That's what Hermione said," Harry replied.

"She's a smart girl," Ron said with a hint of pride.

"This was different, Ron. Wrath of Merlin was different to anything I've ever done before."

"You fought Dark Wizards. That's nothing new for us mate."

"We didn't take prisoners, Ron. We killed. I didn't like it at first, but I came to accept it, and even revel in it."

An uneasy expression crossed Ron's face.

"In many ways I was no better than those I hunted," Harry said simply.

"How much of what the papers are saying is actually true?"

"Some of it is."

Ron nodded. Harry could not tell what his friend was thinking.

"I think the bastards had it coming to them. Given the chance, I would have killed Rookwood for what he did to Fred."

"He died painfully."

"Good."

"So you're not mad at me?"

"Look, I don't like what went on with you and Ginny, but that's for you and her to sort out. I'm disappointed that you didn't tell me what was going on. That was the worst part," Ron said.

"I'm sorry," Harry replied simply.

"But it's done now…and like you said, I'm your best mate. If we survived the bloody spiders in second year, we can get through this," Ron said with a grin.

"Thank you," Harry replied, his voice full with gratitude.

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, and then Harry spoke again.

"I have something to ask you."

"Yeah?"

"I want you to join the Aurors. We're recruiting."

Ron gave a snort of laughter.

"Yeah right."

"I'm serious."

"I haven't done my NEWTs. You know I can't join the bloody Aurors."

"Bollocks. We've been doing this ever since we went through that trapdoor on the third floor. Join Neville and Susan when they start in September as Trainees. Neville only took three NEWT classes in Herbology, Charms, and Transfiguration - and Susan didn't even go back to Hogwarts. Anyone who fought in the Battle of Hogwarts is automatically accepted into Auror Training."

Ron grinned.

"You realise if I join up with you Ginny'll slaughter me, right?"

"We have laws against that sort of thing," Harry replied.

"Like that'll stop her."

Harry grinned in turn.

"Look mate, it's tempting, but I still don't want to leave George alone."

"Ron, I know you don't want to sell jokes for the rest of your life. I know George is seeing Angelina. He's not alone."

"How'd you know that?"

"It's in his file."

"He has a file? Wait, do I?"

"We all do."

"Can I see mine?"

"MLE personnel only, sorry."

"That's convenient," Ron replied.

Harry glanced at his watch and stood.

"I'm going to be late for a meeting if I don't head back now. What's your answer?"

Ron twisted his expression in thought.

"Let me think about it."

"Okay," Harry replied. It was enough, for now.

The Auror Commander pulled his cloak over his shoulders and made for the door.

"I'll see you," he said by way of goodbye.

"It's good to have you back," Ron answered.

Harry nodded in reply. It was all they needed.

* * *

Kingsley, seated at his desk in the Ministry for Magic, appraised the three Aurors sitting in front of him.

None of them looked particularly pleased with their former colleague.

"He is a weapon, Shacklebolt! He has no understanding of tradition, no respect for experience, and no place in the Auror Office!" Proudfoot exclaimed.

"What did you expect, Proudfoot? That he would blindly accept the status quo? Potter is here to challenge you," Kingsley replied.

"Is this what you had planned for him? _He_ was the reason you didn't appoint one of us as Commander when Gawain was murdered?" Albion asked bitterly.

"Yes. Harry Potter is a leader. He inspires the public in a way none of you ever could."

"Kingsley, you earned my respect a long time ago, but this is fucking bollocks!" said Tiberius.

"Accept the hard truth. You were embarrassed today. I daresay the humility will do you good."

"_He_ needs to learn humility!"

"Oh, he's known humility. The Unspeakables he trained with for Wrath of Merlin floored him more times than he can count. But he's a long time past that stage. You need to stop thinking of Harry as a trainee. Just because he's never filed an evidence report, it doesn't mean he's clueless."

"Learn from him. Only then will he want to learn from you."

"We know how to hunt dark wizards!" Albion said.

"Not like him, you don't."

"_Politics_ has changed you, Kingsley," Proudfoot spat.

"No, old friend, the war did. Things are never going to be the same. It is time the both of you accepted that."

"His use - and seeming mastery - of Dark Magic is disconcerting. Not long ago I would have shared your sentiments. To tell you the truth, it still makes me uncomfortable. Yet, there is a saying that understanding the enemy is half the battle. Harry's utilisation of dark magic presents us with that opportunity."

"Magic, ultimately, is all about control. I do not believe that Harry would succumb to the very thing he hates. Dark magic has taken so much from him. He will never forget that."

"For now, gentlemen, we must have faith in him."

"It's a pretty speech, Kingsley, but I'm not convinced," said Hawke.

Kingsley sighed, and opened a drawer in his desk. He pulled out a thick envelope and slid it across the table to the three senior Aurors.

"Read this. And then burn it. You are never to speak of its contents, not to anyone. You know the penalties if you do."

"What is it?"

"A copy of the file that the Department of Mysteries kept on Harry during Wrath of Merlin. Read it. And you may come to understand."

* * *

The Muggle lorry pulled up outside the holding warehouse on the edge of the wharf, and Creedy clambered out of the cab. Pulling his cap low, Creedy quickly made his way behind the warehouse where a row of storage sheds stood. He fished a key from his jacket pocket, and unlocked the door to the fourth shed, then pulled it shut behind him.

The single light inside the storage shed gave off little light, but it was enough to make out the desk surrounded by stacks of crates. As Eret had instructed, Creedy found the cellphone in the second drawer of the desk.

Here, he would wait until the cellphone went off, at which point he would move again. With a noise of impatience, he took a seat on one of the crates.

He had barely sat down when his gut instinct told him that something was wrong.

Creedy drew his wand with catlike speed, but it was torn from his grasp by a sudden, invisible force.

And then the pain of the Cruciatus Curse came. Creedy collapsed, writhing on the floor as a cloaked figure materialised from the shadows.

Creedy's eyes widened in shock as the man removed his hood.

"Hello, Julius."

* * *

A/N: A couple of reminders. _Dar-jach_, introduced in Wrath of Merlin, is a controversial ward cast in public areas, and was seen as an invasion of privacy by many in the magical community. Secondly, Barden is an OC from the time of Merlin, and can be considered the 'first' Auror.

I hope you enjoyed the update, please let me know what you think! 


	3. Azkaban Again

A/N: And we're back…sorry about the wait, but life has been a bit hectic lately. However, the wait raises a point I feel strongly about: I would rather take longer to deliver a higher quality chapter than release a subpar chapter quickly. I, as the author, and you, as the reader, deserve that. With that being said…

**III. Azkaban Again**

"Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power."

– Abraham Lincoln

* * *

Albion Stark sipped at his cup of tea, idly watching the trails of heat rise from the mug. He had not slept in over twenty-four hours, having devoured the Mysteries Report on Operation Wrath of Merlin, and then, not quite believing what he had read, he had gone over it twice more.

Dawn was still hours away when he had carefully set the report into his fireplace, and burned it to ashes.

The lack of sleep he was used to.

What he had learned about Operation Wrath of Merlin…that, he didn't think he'd ever get used to.

Several voices brought him out of his reverie. He turned from his cubicle to see Marcus Savage, Tiberius Hawke, and Siobhan O'Reilly approach.

"Two Muggles found Julius Creedy in the Thames last night. Our people in the Met recognised him instantly," said Savage.

"A one-armed man leaves an impression," Siobhan added.

"How did he die?" Albion asked.

"Gunshot wounds from the looks of it. Two in the chest, and a third in the head," Savage answered.

"Mozambique," murmured Siobhan.

"But our people in forensics think it was a cover to disguise how he was really killed. There are traces of Legilimency, and adequate reason to believe the Killing Curse was used, before the gunshots. I think that gives us sufficient evidence to assume it wasn't a Muggle who killed him." said Savage.

"So the question is _who_ would want to hide the fact that they'd killed Creedy?" Albion said.

"You're not thinking what I'm thinking," said Tiberius, meeting Albion's gaze.

"Yes, I think I am."

"What do you mean, Stark?" asked Siobhan.

Sudden realisation dawned on her features.

"You think Potter did it!"

"He wouldn't!" Savage said.

"He would," said Albion grimly. "Think about it. Creedy is guilty, no doubt about it. The fuck deserved to die - that we all agree on. Moreover, he led the attack at St Mungo's that killed the Unspeakable - X - one of Potter's teachers and partners.

"Now, ask yourself. If you're Harry Potter, and you find Julius Creedy, what do you do?"

"I'd kill him without hesitation. Old habits die hard," answered Tiberius.

"What about the Legilimency?"

"Okay. Harry finds Creedy and tortures him to weaken his mind, at which point he uses Legilimency to learn anything Creedy knows. From what we know, that's textbook _Wrath of Merlin_. Once he's done, bam, bullets to the chest and head, toss him in the Thames," Albion said.

"We didn't see any signs of magical torture though," Siobhan pressed.

"How about this: Potter shoots Creedy in the chest. The wounds aren't necessarily immediately lethal. Creedy, hanging to life by a thread, is easy pickings for Potter's mind. After he's done: headshot to finish the job." said Tiberius.

"It leaves too much to chance. Creedy has valuable information that Potter wants. Why would Potter bother to weaken Creedy's mind with something that has a real risk of killing him straight away?" Savage disagreed.

"There's no signature for the Cruciatus."

"It can be covered up if you know how. Requires practice to do it perfectly though," Siobhan said.

"And we all know that Potter has had the practice," Albion added grimly.

"Siobhan, what do you think? Is Potter our man?" Savage asked her.

The witch looked troubled.

"He requested the file on Creedy a few days ago. I thought little of it."

"It could be coincidence."

"It rarely ever is."

* * *

"Good morning, Kara," Harry greeted.

"For you," she replied, handing him a mug.

"Thanks."

He sat, and leafed through a broadsheet sitting on his desk.

"For the security briefing. The Minister expects you at half past."

"Okay. What else?"

"The Wizengamot sits at ten and breaks for lunch at half twelve. You should make an appearance. It'll be fun, I'm sure."

"Thanks," Harry replied wryly.

Kara made to leave but paused, before fishing out a handful of coins from her robes. "I owe you."

Harry smirked and held up his hand.

"Keep them. I have more than enough."

* * *

"Left!"

"Dive!"

"Evade!"

"Touch the grass!"

Ginny twisted to avoid a Bludger and headed straight for the pitch surface. Merely inches from the ground, she reached out and pulled a fistful of grass from the pitch.

"Straight climb!"

Pressing her feet hard on the pedals, Ginny felt the sudden lurch as her broom accelerated into the climb.

"Speed circuit!"

Ginny circled around, and began to fly laps around the pitch, quickly building speed. She knew that the coaching staff would be timing her laps. The best performance today would get her a coveted starting position for Saturday's game.

A lap was decided in the turns. End to end at top speed, a player could cross the pitch in about three seconds. Changing direction in the oval meant slowing down. The players who most quickly make the turn were considered world-class.

Ginny Weasley had every intention of being world-class.

Approaching the hoops, Ginny pulled in the handle and pushed out the tail of her broomstick, sweeping behind the posts at a blistering speed, before launching out of the turn.

A high-pitched whistle went off, and she returned to the ground.

"How'd you learn to drift like that, Weasley?"

"Practiced at Hogwarts."

"It's penalised under school rules."

"I never used it in a school game."

"It's impressive. You could clock under eleven seconds if pulled off to perfection."

_Eleven seconds_.

Less than eleven seconds was the holy grail of Quidditch Lap Times. Fewer than 20 players in all of Quidditch had ever lapped a regulation pitch in eleven seconds.

* * *

"How's it been?"

"All I've done for the last two days is read reports," Harry replied bitterly.

"They're easing you in."

"I don't need easing in, Kingsley. I don't belong in that office."

"You ran the Gauntlet, no?"

"A training exercise," Harry scoffed. "Nothing on what I did during Merlin."

Kingsley paused, and then made a gesture with his wand. The door locked with a soft click, and Harry felt the soft rush of a silencing ward.

"Is that why you killed Julius Creedy last night?"

Harry met his gaze, but did not answer.

"The Senior Aurors notified me of his death this morning. O'Reilly said that you had requested his file on your first day. They reached the same conclusion I have," Kingsley added.

"You killed Julius Creedy."

"Do you remember what I said about Wrath of Merlin? How it was over?" he pressed.

Harry stood.

"Yes. But I wasn't done."

"Harry, we have rule of law for a reason!"

"If it was me - if I had died in St Mungos - X would've moved hell and earth to avenge me," Harry said quietly.

"So this was vengeance?"

Harry paused, and then answered.

"We shared an unspoken motto during Wrath of Merlin."

"We do not forget. We do not forgive."

Kingsley ran a hand over his scalp.

"I can't keep turning a blind eye, Harry. Will you swear to me that Creedy is the last of this? That Wrath of Merlin ends with his death?"

"No. There's one more thing."

"What?"

"The Nostradamus Lights. I made a promise that I intend to keep. They need to be destroyed."

For the second time in as many minutes, a troubled expression crossed Kingsley's face.

"They're too dangerous, Kingsley," Harry insisted.

"So be it. How will you do it?"

"I'm going to detonate them."

"Where?"

Harry's face grew bleak.

"Hell itself."

* * *

"How was your meeting with the Minister?" Kara asked Harry as he returned.

"I want to see the entire senior staff in my office in two minutes," Harry replied, not bothering to answer her.

Kara blinked, then nodded quickly.

"Yes sir."

The Senior Aurors were assembled in his office within sixty seconds.

"Good morning," Harry began, surveying his senior staff.

A chorus of responses came from the group.

"I'll get right to it. We've been assigned by the Minister to destroy the Nostradamus Lights."

"How? Aren't they indestructible?" asked Albion.

"Yes. Which is why they need to be detonated."

"Where?" Savage said bluntly.

"Azkaban. Tonight. I want a full squadron prepped to transport the Lights."

"We'll get it done."

"Good. Dismissed."

Harry took the latest report from the ever-growing stack of parchment on top of his desk as the Aurors left.

"Sir?"

Harry looked up to see Siobhan standing by the door.

"Yeah?"

"I have a question for you. I'd appreciate your honesty."

"Of course."

"Did you kill Julius Creedy?"

"I was wondering when someone would ask," Harry said appraisingly.

"Did you?"

"Yes," Harry answered simply.

Siobhan's face made no show of what she thought of this revelation.

"How did you find him?"

"I received information about his location from someone who isn't particularly fond of the MLE, but is even less fond of Julius Creedy. I had to act quickly."

"Did he put up much of a fight?"

A smirk crossed Harry's features.

"Not for very long."

"Why didn't you take him alive?"

"Two reasons. He was responsible for the deaths of X and Y."

"And?"

"He knew how to build a Nostradamus Light."

* * *

Harry was leaving the Wizengamot Chamber that afternoon when he was approached by a man with a greying beard. The beard was not an uncommon feature. The Unspeakable robes, on the other hand, were.

"Commander, we meet again."

"Sorry, I don't recall," Harry said, shaking the man's proffered hand.

"Of course. Like your former compatriots in the Department of Mysteries, I have a letter: M. You were unconscious when we met the first time. We healed you after your battle at the Manor."

Harry nodded.

M glanced around.

"We should speak more privately. I think a meeting between an Unspeakable and the Auror Commander would draw some attention."

Harry followed the man to an adjacent conference room and took a seat as M warded the space.

"I was saddened to learn of X's death. He was a friend - well, as friendly as someone like him could be," M continued. "He spoke highly of you. He said you were the balance we needed."

"He was a good man," Harry replied.

"He was a good monster," M said.

Harry scowled.

"I won't sugarcoat it, Mr Potter. X and Y shared what I would diagnose as an insatiable bloodlust."

He sighed.

"Anyway. They rest in the past. Onto the matter at hand: you want the Lights."

"They're too dangerous."

"You're not wrong, Mr Potter. I understand you want to detonate them tonight?

"Yes."

"I will assist you."

"I thought you'd object to their destruction."

"No. They present too great a risk to our world." M replied. "Besides, Mr Potter. Why do we need them when we have you?"

* * *

Vice-Captain Grace Lynch - affectionately known as Gracie by everyone from her teammates to her fans to her own mother - surveyed the pitch beneath her. Normally she would be watching for a tiny golden speck, but today her hawklike gaze was focused on a red streak.

Ginny Weasley was undoubtedly good. Maybe even a contender for Rookie of the Year.

Gracie continued her appraisal, nodding with approval when Ginny feinted a shot past Gemma Neeson, a fourth year Keeper.

But game day would be the real test.

Settling to the ground, the Seeker made her way to team captain Gwenog Jones.

"Start Weasley."

"Yeah?"

"Her fundamentals are good. We've pushed her as far as we can in training. We need to see her play."

"Agreed."

Gwenog blew the whistle she kept around her neck and motioned for the Chasers to land.

"Valmai, Giselle, Weasley, you're starting this Saturday."

Gwenog fixed her gaze on Ginny.

"You've got yourself a game."

* * *

The boat docked at an island that did not exist. Rain lashed the meagre pier, nestled beneath the bleak cold walls of Azkaban.

Harry made his way down the gangway. Despite all he had been through, he still could not shake the sense of unease that accompanied the fortress.

Behind him, Aurors were carefully moving several large caskets - each solid gold - and built to contain the Nostradamus Lights. Reaching the entrance, Harry tapped his wand to the iron door. It swung slowly inwards on silent hinges.

_"__Expecto Patronum."_

The silver stag shot from Harry's wand, providing welcome illumination.

"We go downwards."

The wards grew stronger as the group made their way deep into the bowels of the prison, accompanied by the steady _drip _of water leaking in the passageway. Harry tightened his great cloak, thankful for the warmth it provided.

Then, the stairs - hewn into the rock itself - broadened, and once again, Harry found himself in the dread cavern that was home to the Pit.

"Welcome to hell on earth," Harry stated bitterly.

"Rockwood put you in here," Albion replied.

"Yes."

"For how long?" The Auror's voice was quiet.

"I lost track of the time. A few weeks, at least."

"Fuck," Albion replied, with awe in his voice.

"Set the Lights here," Harry instructed.

The Aurors took positions around the cavernous space.

Harry walked up to the edge of the Pit and peered into the darkness. The Dementor swarm hid deep in the shadows, menacing, waiting.

"What are you doing?" Albion asked as Harry stepped over the guard rail and onto the ledge.

"We're going to detonate the Lights in the Pit. But there's something I have to do first."

"What?"

"This wand belongs to Albus Dumbledore. Mine is down there," Harry replied, gesturing with the Elder Wand.

Albion fixed him with a disbelieving look.

"Are you insane?"

"You know, the thought has crossed my mind," Harry replied.

The Auror Commander exhaled slowly, and clenched his fist tightly around the Elder Wand, facing the abyss. A chill rattled the air. The swarm knew he had returned.

"I'm back, you bastards," he murmured.

And with that, he jumped.

Cries of shock echoed around the cave as the Aurors looked on in disbelief.

"Did he - just -"

Siobhan rushed to the ledge and peered over. It was pitch black.

"He'll be helpless in there!"

And then, a great tongue of blazing white flame shot out from the abyss and formed into a fiery Phoenix. The creature let out an earsplitting cry, casting brilliant light throughout the cavern, and then dove back into the darkness of the Pit.

"Fiendfyre!" exclaimed Proudfoot.

"No," M replied. "Something _more_."

A blazing white light suddenly burst forth from the Pit with another earsplitting shriek. A cacophony of rattling howls filled the air.

The blinding light cleared, and Siobhan could make out Harry by the edge of the Pit, crouched over, and breathing heavily. His face was a chill white, and he was drenched with sweat.

"I'm not doing that again," he exclaimed.

"I don't fucking believe it," said Proudfoot.

"Did you get your wand?" Siobhan asked.

Gaining some of its colour, his face changed into a triumphant expression. He held up his clenched fist, which enclosed his broken wand.

He took her proffered hand and drew himself up.

"Let's end this."

Each glowing red orb was levitated over the mouth of the Pit where they hung suspended in midair.

M drew a series of incantations in the air with his wand.

"They will detonate together once they reach the bottom of the Pit," he explained to Harry.

"Good."

"In a way, Commander, I will be sad to see them go," M said.

Harry appraised the older man, and nodded.

"I understand."

"Would you do the honours, Commander?"

"Yes."

"The incantation is the same. We won't have long to reach the surface after you cast the detonation."

"Fall out!"

The Aurors around the periphery retreated, standing in formation behind Harry.

Harry pointed the Elder Wand at the closest orb.

_"__Dominae Nostrae."_

Snaking red tendrils shot out from the Light, meeting the other orbs suspended above the Pit. And then, as one, they dropped into the depths.

"We've got a minute. Let's move!"

The unit of Aurors broke into a swift retreat, returning up the rocky stairs hewn into the cavern walls.

As the last of the Aurors returned to the narrow passageway within the prison itself, a thunderous _boom _shook the island.

"Brace yourselves!" shouted Savage.

The group crouched for cover, casting shields as debris fell around them.

_Boom. Boom._

_Boom._

_Boom. _

"It's going to cave in!" yelled Hawke.

"Brace the corridor!"

Harry expanded his shield, a golden shimmering barrier that solidified around the dank passageway as the explosions continued.

As the rumbling subsided and the dust settled, Harry stood, dismissing his shield.

"It's done."

* * *

_Knock. Knock knock._

"Ginny?"

_Knock._

Stirring, Ginny reached for her wand.

_"__Lumos."_

"Ginny, are you up?"

Ginny recognised the voice of the Harpies housekeeper.

Wrapping a nightrobe around herself, she opened her bedroom door.

"What's the time?"

"Quarter past one," the housekeeper replied.

Ginny elicited a groan.

"I know it's late, I'm sorry. You have a visitor."

"At this time of night? Can't it wait until morning?"

"He was very insistent."

"Who?"

"Harry Potter."

"Tell him he can bugger off."

"He said you'd say that. He also said that it was a matter of national security."

Ginny sighed and walked out onto the landing. Harry, standing by the stairs, lowered the hood of his greatcloak as she made her way over. His eyes had not lost any of their intensity from the last time they had met. Ginny met his gaze with a thunderous scowl.

"What's this about?"

"Hold on."

Harry cast a silencing ward around them.

"Is that really necessary?"

"You never know who might be listening," he replied.

Ginny let out an exasperated noise.

"Why are you here?" she said. The scowl had not left her features.

"I made a promise to you, by the lake. The Lights have been destroyed. I wanted you to know."

Ginny nodded, taking this in.

"That's it?"

"That's it. Goodnight, Ginny."

And then he was gone, leaving the young woman to her thoughts.

* * *

The White Tomb shone in the pale moonlight as Harry approached.

Once more, Harry weaved the pieces of his phoenix wand back together, fusing the core of the wand whole again.

The wand settled into his hand. It lacked the lethal intent of the Elder Wand, but Harry had expected that.

Using his own wand once again, Harry opened the Tomb, and placed the Elder Wand inside, before sealing the Tomb for the last time.

"I don't know if you envisaged this for me, Albus," he said aloud.

Harry placed a hand on the cold marble.

"The Elder Wand will die with me."

He stood there, for a moment longer, and then with a _crack_, disappeared.

* * *

A/N: Hope you enjoyed! A couple of footnotes pertaining to the chapter (Yes, this fanfic has footnotes. If you hadn't already realised, this is not your typical fanfic).

1\. Rather than just pick a number that sounded fast, I did a bit of research into broomstick speeds. With respects to realism, let's just say that physics has nothing on magic and leave it there. The Firebolt is supposedly capable of a top speed of 150 mph (241 km/h) - and takes about ten seconds to do 0-150. At 150 mph, a Firebolt covers 220 feet _every second_. A Quidditch pitch is some 500 feet end to end, meaning the pitch is crossed in roughly 3 seconds. Allowing for slowing down in the turns - remember, they're doing a complete 180 - I decided that 12 second lap times were realistic in the professional league, whilst breaking eleven would be indicative of the greats.

2\. When Siobhan says 'Mozambique', she's referring to an assassination method popularised by various special forces and intelligence agencies. Whether or not it's still in use, I don't know, but it has been used in the past.


	4. Burn

A/N: I'd like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who has favourited or reviewed this story thus far. I'm not particularly good at replying to reviews, but I assure you that I read - and am grateful for - every one.

**IV. Burn**

"The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places."

– Ernest Hemingway

* * *

_"__AND IT'S ALL OVER HERE IN EXMOOR!"_

_"__The Wasps have taken this one out with a commanding 210 point victory." _

_"__You know Gwenog Jones has to be frustrated with her Chasers tonight."_

_"__I agree. A clear weak link in the team today. They were outplayed at every turn."_

_"__Ginny Weasley failed to fire."_

_"__I'm glad you brought her up. Biggest signing of the offseason, but failed to live up to the hype today."_

_"__In fairness, she played well below her best today. I think we could all see that."_

_"__Thing is, that's simply not good enough in this League."_

_"__Agreed. Holyhead need to sort out their Chaser problem if they've got any hopes for a successful season."_

_"__Well, they've got another three weeks to figure it out, or the Harpies will find themselves languishing in the bottom half of the league for the third year running."_

* * *

Gwenog strode in to the despondent dressing room, clearly enraged.

"What the fuck was that!"

No one answered.

The Beater looked furiously around the room.

"Weasley, you're benched. You too, Guilford."

Gwenog hawked and spat, then stalked out.

Ginny's eyes did not leave the floor.

* * *

"Commander, meet Task Force One."

Harry surveyed the large space in front of him - effectively a larger version of the Auror Office. MLE personnel manned rows upon rows of cubicles on the open floor. The Deputy Head of the MLE, a tall, thin man named Benjamin Spencer, led him down the stairs and through the rows of cubicles.

"For the last year, Task Force One has been responsible for building a case against every single Death Eater and associate of Voldemort still alive today. Between you and me, Commander, your ah, _excursion_ with the Department of Mysteries made my job a lot easier. No point convicting the dead."

"You're welcome."

"I understand you've made several submissions to the prosecutors on behalf of Draco and Narcissa Malfoy."

Harry gave a short nod.

"Draco acted under considerable duress. And Narcissa saved my life in the Forbidden Forest. She lied to Tom Riddle."

Spencer stopped and gestured to a group of four witches and three wizards, who all stood at the sight of the Auror Commander

"This group is dealing with the Malfoy cases. What have you got?"

"We've got Lucius on charges of conspiracy, treason, murder, attempted murder, extortion, and bribery," answered one of the witches.

"That's one hell of a rap sheet, Commander. Are you sure Draco and Narcissa had nothing to do with any of it?" Spencer asked.

"No. But I have to be pragmatic. Narcissa is inherently self-interested, so if I can repay her for what she did, then she may prove a useful asset to the MLE. As for Draco, I have first-hand testimony from Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore that supports my submission."

"Both are dead. How–"

"I spoke to Dumbledore when I died," Harry replied quietly. "And I have Snape's memories too."

There was a heavy pause.

"What about Lucius?"

Harry's eyes narrowed.

"Lucius Malfoy can rot for all I care."

* * *

Kingsley ran his hand over the edge of the lectern, tracing the grain of the polished wood, worn smooth over centuries. He wondered just how many how many had stood where he stood now, basking in the final moments of tranquility before the Press Corps stormed through the doors, hungry, demanding, relentless.

"It's time, Minister," said an undersecretary.

Kingsley set his face into a familiar stoic mask as the Corps filed through the entranceway into the Briefing Room.

"Good morning."

"When I was first appointed to the role of Minister for Magic, I pledged to bring those responsible for the horrific crimes committed during Voldemort's tyranny to justice. But justice, done right, with respect to us, the victims, takes time. It takes patience."

"The patience that the people of Wizarding Britain have extended to the Ministry whilst we have compiled evidence on hundreds of cases is nothing short of commendable. I must acknowledge the work of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement too. Countless hours have gone into the largest judicial undertaking the Wizarding World has ever seen."

"Now, we are ready. Official charges have just been laid against each Death Eater and associate that we hold in captivity today. And I promise you that justice will be served."

Kingsley paused, as bright camera flashes lit up the room.

"At long last, the War Trials can begin!"

* * *

_"__That was Minister Shacklebolt in a Press Conference only moments ago. If you're just joining us now with breaking news, we can confirm that the long-awaited War Trials are set to begin in two days time."_

_"__And about time too. Apart from Wrath of Merlin, this delay has been the biggest blight on the Shacklebolt Administration to date."_

The commentary on the wireless faded into the background as Ginny tied the laces on her Quidditch boots, and rotated her ankle to ensure she could freely move her feet.

She stood, fitting her gloves, and shrugged her shoulders. The training gear felt heavy across her back. Ginny traipsed out of the dressing room, grabbing her Firebolt as she left, and made her way to where the second team was training.

Every Quidditch player dreamed of playing for the League. But not as a fill-in player for the second team.

* * *

"You weren't joking about your office being tiny," said Harry.

Hermione looked up and smiled at him. Her office was typically Hermione. A bookshelf occupied more room than she did, running floor to ceiling. Several stacks of parchment crowded her desk.

Harry shifted a copy of _Legal Treatises of Magical Britain _off a chair, and took a seat.

"Aren't you meant to be on Level Ten?"

"I've recused myself from most of the trials. "

"Understandable. Oh, have you found a place yet?"

"I spent three hours last week signing forms at Gringotts. Stuff I couldn't do during Wrath of Merlin. The Potter family fortune goes beyond my vault."

"Not just Godric's Hollow?" she queried.

"The mansion, a lake house, a flat in the west end of Diagon Alley, and a holiday home on Rue Magique."

"In Paris?"

"Yeah. And that's not even including what I inherited from Sirius."

"What are you going to do with it?"

"I'm moving properly into the mansion. It's far too big for one person, but it's secure."

"Lucky for some."

He smirked.

"Here."

He handed her a bunch of photographs with names scrawled on the back. She took them, puzzled.

"What are these for?"

"I've been learning the names of the Aurors. Show me the photos."

"Alright."

Hermione held up the first photo.

"Tiberius Hawke. He's a Senior Auror."

"This one."

"Um, Lucy…Lucy Kerr. She was a student of Tonks."

"Correct," Hermione replied, flicking through to the next photo.

"Easy. Kara Albright. You met her when you visited. She's finishing her training soon."

"Will she make it through?"

"She will do. She knows what she's doing. And we can't afford to let anybody go. Not when the Aurors are being asked to do more and more."

"She's very pretty," Hermione remarked with a querying expression.

"She is. But she's not Ginny."

"Still, huh?"

"Yeah," Harry said quietly. "Next card."

Hermione gave him a sympathetic smile and held up the next card.

* * *

Draco Malfoy stared at the low ceiling above him, shifting on the cot in his cell in something of a futile effort to get comfortable. Incarceration had not suited him. The persistent ache in his back and the mind-numbing boredom had made his stay in Barden's Keep most unpleasant.

Visitors were few and far between. The family lawyer had made a couple of calls, before he too had been clapped in irons by a gleeful MLE after revelations had come to light about his activities in the war.

Draco hadn't been surprised when he heard. The man's fees alone were criminal.

He started at the sudden sound of a bolt being drawn back, and the grating noise of the door unlocking. A guard entered the cell.

"Stand, prisoner."

Draco did as instructed.

"Hands."

The young man extended his wrists as the guard reached for his shackles.

"That won't be necessary."

Another figure appeared in the entranceway to the cell. A figure with a voice that Draco knew.

"Sir, it's–"

"I'm well aware that it's protocol. I think I can handle Mr. Malfoy."

"Sir."

The guard gave a deferential nod and exited.

He wasn't Potter anymore. His longtime rival was still there, but much had changed.

He had an assuredness about him that he hadn't possessed at school - except perhaps when playing Quidditch or during his Defence Against the Dark Arts classes. But now it was almost overwhelming.

He wasn't Potter. He was the Auror Commander.

Harry lowered his hood and fixed Draco with an unreadable gaze. Draco had the sudden realisation that if he wanted to, Harry could end his life without a second thought.

"Why are you here?"

"Your trial has been moved forwards to tomorrow."

"Don't you have a hundred people who could've visited instead to tell me that?"

"I'm here because I need you to testify against your father."

"You already have enough evidence."

"Not as much as I'd like."

"You want the death sentence for him."

"The thought has crossed my mind, but no."

"Then why?"

"Because it will _break_ him, Draco. To know that even his own son has rejected him is a greater punishment for your father than death."

Draco gaped.

"If you agree to do this, you will go to trial tomorrow and be presented with a lenient sentence. One year."

_One year._

"And if I don't?"

"Twenty-five years. In Azkaban. Trust me, the Keep is much more comfortable."

"You're extorting me to testify! The MLE can't do that!"

"But the Auror Commander _can,_" Harry smirked. "Think, Draco. Your life or his."

And with that, the Commander strode out of the cell, and the door closed behind him with a tone of ringing finality.

* * *

Magellan straightened his robes and strode into the Courtroom. Taking his place on the bench, he picked up the gavel and gave it two sharp raps on the desk.

"This Court is called to order!"

Magellan sat and cleared his throat.

"Present the accused!"

"Malfoy, Draco!" announced a burly-looking bailiff.

Malfoy, shackled at wrist and ankle, shuffled into the Courtroom where he stood before Magellan.

"Mr Malfoy, today, you are formally charged with conspiracy to treason and attempted murder."

"The Auror Commander has made a submission to the prosecution on your behalf, stressing that much of your involvement occurred under considerable duress. I also understand that you have agreed to testify if required in subsequent trials. With that in mind, you will receive a twelve month period of incarceration followed by a suspended sentence of ten years, should you plead guilty."

"How do you wish to plead?"

"I plead guilty."

"Done! Fair warning, Mr Malfoy: if you are caught breaking the law - and I daresay the Aurors will keep a very watchful eye on you under the provisions of your plea - then you will serve a ten year sentence in Azkaban."

"Remand Mr Malfoy in Barden's Keep."

Magellan slammed down the gavel.

"Just like that," Hermione remarked from where she and Harry sat in the MLE gallery above the proceedings.

"Just like that," Harry echoed, with a tone of satisfaction in his voice.

* * *

"Malfoy, Narcissa!"

The thin blonde woman rose and made her way before the judge. Her face was drawn and her eyes betrayed an emptiness.

"Narcissa Malfoy, you have been charged with conspiracy to treason and conspiracy to murder. In your case, too, the Auror Commander has made a submission. He particularly impressed the nature of your actions in the Forbidden Forest. Taking his testimony into consideration, the prosecution has recommended six months home detention, followed by a five year suspended sentence with a guilty plea."

"How do you plead?"

"Guilty," she replied as her face broke into an expression of relief.

"Done! You will be placed in detention at a nominated address for the allotted period of your sentence. Any visitors and external contact will be vetted by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Any violation of the conditions of your detention will result in a five year incarceration in Barden's Keep."

She nodded and was lead back down the passageway out of the Courtroom.

"What about Lucius?" Hermione queried.

"He's scheduled for next week."

"Did you make a submission for him?"

"Only to recommend a life sentence in Azkaban," Harry replied, and Hermione could not help but notice the edge in his voice.

* * *

_Ginny_

I scowled.

It was becoming a habit.

But I really didn't want to be here tonight.

Of course, my attendance was contractually required. The Preseason Ball was just one of many social functions held by Holyhead to woo their sponsors and sell corporate boxes.

But I would rather be spending the time practicing.

Scanning the ballroom, I noticed I wasn't the only one. Gwenog was tapping out an irate pattern with her fingers on the bar, and her fellow Beater, Georgia Wright, kept on glancing at her watch.

But others - Giselle Fernandes, our Brazilian Chaser, and Selena Guilford, our second Keeper - were loving the attention.

"Persevere, Ginny."

I turned to see a grinning Gracie Lynch holding two drinks.

"Here, you look like you need it."

I thanked her and gratefully took the proffered drink.

I lifted the glass to my lips as Team Owner Georgina Sanders - a renowned entrepreneur and the wealthiest witch in Magical Europe - took to the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen, players, family, and friends of the Club, it is a great privilege to welcome you all here tonight for the Preseason Ball, as we celebrate the beginning of a new year of Quidditch."

"But without further ado, please put your hands together for our very special guest this evening, a wizard who requires no introduction, Mr Harry Potter!"

Of course he was here. Of course he was the special bloody guest. When you lead an army of Centaurs into battle with thousands of Inferi - and live to tell the tale - you tend to get given special treatment.

I watched Harry make his way to the stage - or rather, watched other people watch him. Most of the women - and a couple of men - were enthralled by his every step. He had dressed for the occasion too, with a sharp set of dress robes. He exchanged a couple of quiet words with Georgina, before turning to address the room.

"Thank you. I'm truly humbled to be considered in such high esteem by Holyhead Quidditch."

"The Auror Office knows how important Quidditch is to so many people in our world, and we're committed to ensuring that players and fans can attend games in safety. A new policy implemented by the MLE this season means that Aurors will be present at every game - protecting you."

"I want to wish the ladies of the team good fortune for their games in the coming weeks. I look forward to attending a few myself."

He raised his goblet.

"Go Harpies."

The crowd cheered.

Short and sweet. Harry had never struck me as the sort of person who would naturally take to giving speeches, but I guess it's what a leader does. The band struck up, and people began to mingle and dance once again.

"Go speak to him!" Gracie encouraged.

"I think he's preoccupied," I replied, watching as a group of people crowded around him, including several women who were eyeing him like a piece of meat.

The sudden unmistakable twinge of jealously surprised me. I really had no reason to be jealous.

After all, he and I were through.

* * *

Harry found himself seated amongst the Wizengamot the following morning. He watched as Magellan took his seat on the bench.

"The trial is now in session. I summon the accused!"

"Fenrir Greyback!" announced the bailiff.

There was a palpable hiss throughout the courtroom as Fenrir shuffled in, escorted by a quadrant of bailiffs. He was placed in a wooden chair before the judge and secured to it.

"Fenrir Greyback, you are charged on multiple counts of treason, conspiracy, murder, attempted murder, grievous bodily harm, malicious infection, theft, and extortion."

"How do you plead?"

"Not guilty," replied Greyback, bearing a yellowed smirk.

A cry of anger arose from the crowd in the public gallery, and amongst several in the Wizengamot ranks.

"Order!" Magellan shouted above the crowd, slamming his gavel down.

"Fenrir Greyback, you will be remanded in Azkaban to await trial."

The werewolf gave an earsplitting yell. Suddenly, the chains binding him to the chair sprung apart, and he leapt forwards with a crazed hunger in his eyes.

To the people gathered in the Chamber, it happened in slow motion.

Harry rose from his seat amongst the Wizengamot with his wand drawn, speaking quiet words under his breath.

Mid-leap, Fenrir Greyback was slammed back into the floor, before his body jerked up into the air, levitating before the assembled Council.

A cold anger raged in Harry's eyes.

_"Burn."_

Greyback suddenly clutched at his stomach, his eyes bugling wide as a billowing flame burst from his chest. He let out an unearthly shriek of pain as the livid fire churned inside him. An acrid stench filled the courtroom as the Fiendfyre consumed him utterly, his limbs flailing in mid-air as the flesh melted from his bones.

And then the chilling screams drew to an abrupt halt, and Fenrir Greyback was no more.

* * *

A picture of Fenrir Greyback writhing in agony as Fiendfyre consumed him covered the front page of the _Prophet_.

_JUSTICE IN COURTROOM ONE_

_Auror Commander Harry Potter, who has recused himself from much of the trial process, dealt the savage Fenrir Greyback a killing blow as the werewolf escaped his bonds._

_Critics have been quick to lambast Potter for using deadly force, but it is hard to argue against such actions when Greyback's crimes are taken into account._

_The Commander was lightning-quick in his reaction to the suddenly lethal situation, and…_

Kingsley slammed the paper down, and glared at the two men standing before him in his office.

"How the fuck did he slip his chains!"

"We simply don't know, Minister," Benjamin Spencer replied smoothly. "An entire team of curse-breakers are working on it as we speak. Trials have been reconvened in Courtroom Two whilst we assess the security risk."

"Get it done. This is an embarrassment. Dismissed."

"Sir."

Spencer left.

Kingsley shifted to look at the other occupant of the room with a resigned look.

"Really?"

Harry returned his gaze with a deadpan expression.

"He was seconds away from mauling someone."

"You could have stunned him instead."

"You and I both know why I didn't."

"You can't pull _Wrath of Merlin_ shit in the middle of a crowded Courtroom, Harry!"

"I acted on instinct, Kingsley. You know how that works as well as I do."

Kingsley mulled his response over for a moment, then exhaled.

"The silver lining is that the Press is so enamoured with you did that they're not bothering to question the glaring security breach. My concern is that it was someone on the inside."

"Likewise," Harry agreed.

"Each bailiff assigned to the Trials was vetted by Spencer. We should be able to trust them."

"You can't trust anybody."

"Should I trust you?" Kingsley asked pointedly.

"I'm an exception."

* * *

A/N: As always, let me know what you think. If you're a new reader, welcome aboard!


	5. Daphne

A/N: Welcome back!

**V. Daphne**

"And it's a battered old suitcase to a hotel someplace, and a wound that will never heal."

– Tom Waits

* * *

"Two deaths in two days."

"The Swindon Hacker strikes again," remarked Albion.

"Who comes up with these names?" Harry asked.

"Our friends at the Daily Prophet."

Harry massaged his forehead.

He hadn't experienced splitting pain like this since Voldemort. The lack of sleep was not helping.

Sleep meant revisiting the Pit.

Kai Booke, a Healer attached to the clandestine services, had suggested that he was suffering from the lingering effects of the Nostradamus Lights.

"Commander?"

Harry was snapped out of his reverie by Siobhan O'Reilly. She and the other Senior Aurors were all awaiting his word.

"Yeah?"

"Marching orders?" Siobhan said with a puzzled expression on her features.

"Sure. Okay. Three weeks since the first murder, and three more since then. We know the fuck is magical and that associated deaths in Bristol and Gloucester might be his doing."

He scanned the map in front of him.

"We can't wait for him to murder someone else. I want raids on every known piece of shit from Cheltenham to Salisbury. We'll expand into Cardiff if he continues to head west."

"I'll form a squad going south to Salisbury," volunteered John Proudfoot.

"Likewise, I'll take Cheltenham and Gloucester," stated Tiberius Hawke.

"Done then," said Stark. "I'll continue my investigation into the latest murders. I'm sure a lead will develop."

A murmured consensus chorused around the table. Siobhan waited as her colleagues left the briefing room.

"Are you alright, Commander?"

He met her eyes.

"Fine, just distracted."

She nodded, and left him to his thoughts.

Whatever was distracting the Commander was a risk. Troubled, Siobhan made her way to Kara's cubicle.

"Albright, a word?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Is the Commander seeing Kai Booke?"

The blonde witch hesitated.

"I'm not sure I should–"

"I'm ordering you to tell me," Siobhan interjected. She was pleased, nevertheless, that her Trainee hadn't willingly given away confidential information about the Commander.

Kara nodded.

"Yes, he has. At least twice a week. In fact, he's scheduled to meet this afternoon."

"Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary about his behaviour?"

"He's using the Pensieve more frequently, but that's it. Otherwise it's the usual meetings and briefings, and his duties with the Wizengamot."

"Keep an eye on him for me. Let me know of anything unusual."

"Unusual?" smirked Kara. "You've met the Commander right? He's the very picture of normalcy."

* * *

The driving rain battered the cobbled streets as a cloaked figure passed underneath the pale glow of streetlights. Thomas Monk reached his doorstep, casting a quick glance behind him. No one in sight, and no one he could sense either. Relief swept over him.

He did not leave his house often now. He was a wanted man. From the whispers he heard in the shadows, Augustus Rockwood wanted him for questioning. The thought was chilling. He had worked under the notorious double agent before, during the Dark Lord's reign. Once had been enough.

But that was a comforting thought in comparison to the other spectre that haunted him.

_Wrath of Merlin._

The Death Eaters knew little of the covert group that was hunting their numbers. There was seemingly little method to their wanton killing. But week by week, month by month, the surviving Death Eaters were being picked off.

Just last week Monk had received word that a safe house had been ravaged, leaving over thirty of Voldemort's faithful dead.

Thirty of their number, in the space of a night.

This wasn't murder. This was a slaughter.

Wishing the thoughts from his mind, Monk closed the door behind him and drew the bolt across. He removed his cloak, hanging it on the peg next to the door, and that was when he felt it.

The wand pointed at the back of his neck.

"Raise your hands, Mr Monk. Slowly."

Monk did so as a second voice spoke:

"_Expelliarmus."_

His wand slipped from its holster, and he heard a sharp _snap _as it was disposed of.

"Down the hall."

Monk walked down the hallway and into the lounge, with the two men behind him.

"Take a seat."

A third man was sitting in the lounge, sipping from a flask.

Monk did so.

The other two men sat and removed their hoods.

"X," the man with the flask gestured to himself, "Y…"

"…and The Boy Who Lived."

Monk gaped.

"Merlin, it's you!"

Harry Potter sat not three feet from him.

"Mr Monk, I think you know who we are," spoke the man with the flask. "And what we're here to do."

Monk nodded mutely.

"I know I did wrong," Monk said. "When the call came to assemble at Hogwarts, I did not go. I could not."

"You missed out on a good fight," Harry drawled.

"We need information, Mr Monk. I want to know what you know," said X.

The assault on his mind was sudden and sharp. Monk gasped as the rudimentary barriers that Occlumency training had placed on his mind were brushed aside. Fragments of memory flickered in front of his mind's eye. His fellow Death Eaters. The coup d'état on the Ministry. The Muggleborns. The exterminations. And then, her.

* * *

A thin trickle of blood ran from his nostril as Monk came to. He felt nauseous.

That he could feel meant he was still alive.

"I…I have a family. A Muggle family. You know. You saw," he said desperately to Harry.

His throat was dry.

"I fell in love with her. I hid them from Voldemort. Just as your parents hid you."

Harry's face was impassive, a bleak mask.

"It cannot be any other way."

Monk swallowed.

"Will they be looked after?"

"They will be provided for," X said.

"Thank you."

The former Death Eater nodded and knelt on the ground, bowing his head.

"This is a good death," murmured Y.

The Unspeakable placed his wand against the back of Monk's head.

"Avada Kedavra."

Harry rose out of the Pensieve as the green flash came. He bent over the bowl, beads of sweat dripping from his forehead as he gripped the edges. Before his eyes, strands of silvery memory were intertwined with inky black.

* * *

_Ginny_

From my seat on the bench, I watched as Valmai Morgan tumbled out of the sky. The roar of the crowd behind me flooded my senses as her body slammed into the pitch.

The piercing shriek of a whistle paused the match as Healers rushed to my teammate's aid.

It had been four weeks since I had been benched. The team had gone 1-3 in that time. Gwenog's mood had gotten darker with every loss.

The Healers stretchered Valmai off the pitch as Gwenog called for a timeout.

"Broken limbs, concussion. Internal bleeding. She's out for two weeks at least," reported our lead Healer.

"Fuck!" Gwenog exclaimed.

The commentator blared in the background.

"_THE HARPIES, DOWN FIFTY POINTS, LOSE THEIR FIRST CHASER TO INJURY."_

Gwenog turned to me.

"You're on, Weasley. Don't fuck this up."

Four weeks on the bench had made me angry. Four weeks on the bench had given me a hunger.

I wasn't born to sit on a bench. I was born to fly.

I met the stare of my captain.

"Don't get in my way."

* * *

Kai Booke studied the young man sitting in front of him. The Auror Commander. It was bloody foolish, if you asked him, to place that kind of responsibility on someone so young - someone so damaged, someone who had spent an inordinate amount of time in hospital wings.

But then he recalled the chilling assessment he had offered to the Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries: that Potter's power eclipsed theirs on an impossible scale. What else could you do with a man like him?

"You're not sleeping well," stated the Healer.

"No. The memories are difficult."

"As expected. You have endured too much. The Pensieve has not helped?"

"It hasn't."

Healer Booke mulled over his words for a moment.

"There are wizards better-versed in this sort of thing than myself, but there's a school of thought that suggests that your magical energy is intrinsically tied in to your emotions. It's why, for example, a Patronus requires a happy memory, or the Cruciatus Curse, rage, to be effective."

"During Wrath of Merlin, you closed off a lot of yourself, pushed those emotions deep down. You knew little more than blind resolve."

Harry nodded, taking in his words.

"Allow yourself to feel, Harry. Reestablishing your emotional connection to your magical energy will require nothing less."

"I'm not entirely sure I can."

"Can I ask what your relationship with Ginny Weasley is like?"

"We don't really have one."

Booke nodded.

"I see."

"Should it matter?"

Kai Booke fixed him with a perceptive gaze.

"To you, Harry, I think it does very much."

* * *

"GRACIE LYNCH HAS THE CATCH! HARPIES WIN! HARPIES WIN!"

Exhausted, covered in sweat and grime, bleeding from a cut above her eye, and nursing a bruised shoulder, Ginny Weasley punched a gloved hand into the air in celebration as the crowd roared around her.

She made her way to the dressing room as the _boom_ of fireworks thundered around the stadium.

"Off the bench for eleven goals and six assists. Not bad, Weasley," said Gwenog, handing her the game ball. "See if you can do better next week."

Ginny gave her a grin and accepted the Quaffle as the team cheered.

* * *

Daphne Greengrass had not bothered to finish her final year at Hogwarts after the war ended. School had simply been a compulsory way of occupying her time until the age of eighteen, when her mother and father would marry her off to a wizard from any one of Europe's Noble Houses.

To her father, she had been little more than a business asset used form a new corporate or political alliance. At the age of eight, her mother had given her a critical look over, and decided that she wasn't sufficient breeding stock unless she lost weight.

Curtsey. Smile. Sit. Nod. That was how she would survive.

Of course, the war had changed things.

On the morning of the fourth of May, she had cashed in the shares given to her by her father as a seventeenth birthday present, and flatly told them that she was leaving the house.

When questioned what she would do by her scornful mother, Daphne had recited each of the statutes and rulings handed down over the centuries that formed the body of the law covering child neglect.

She had not looked back.

In the six months that followed, she largely ignored the world and her old acquaintances altogether. Sporadic correspondence with her younger sister was her only former link to her Noble House.

Instead, her company had been books: _The First Laws: A Definitive Guide_, _Magical Common Law - 82nd Edition_, _Legal Treatises of Magical Britain, _and _Treatises of the Magical Confederation. _

In those six months, she had memorised each text - amongst others - cover to cover, and after acing her legal exams, the Ministry Counsel had headhunted her for their department.

But now, as the lift doors opened, and she stepped out to line up outside the security desk in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, she couldn't help but feel tremendously under-qualified for her newest case.

It was silly, really. She had gone to school with him, taken classes with him.

From what she had heard however, he was a different person now. Wrath of Merlin had changed him.

Like everyone else in the Ministry, she knew the rumours. Whispers of a rampage through a manor house, treason within the Department of Mysteries itself, and an unsanctioned visit to Azkaban that left Dolores Umbridge without a soul.

The woman was now officially classified as an Unperson.

The thought chilled her to the bone.

"Daphne Greengrass, General Counsel. To see the Auror Commander," she said crisply to the wizard sitting at the reception desk in the Auror Office.

"That way, up the stairs on the right. Fourth door down. Can't miss it."

She followed his instructions, slipping into an expressionless mask that covered her features as she reached the door.

HARRY J. POTTER

AUROR COMMANDER

She exhaled, and knocked twice.

The door opened, and to her surprise, another woman stood in the entrance with a scowl on her face.

"Come in," said the witch curtly.

Daphne entered the spacious office, well-stocked with books and instruments of magic. A gleaming sword rested on the wall behind a large desk.

Harry Potter sat on one of the couches, nonchalantly resting his feet on the small table. A glass of pumpkin juice sat precariously close to his boots. Daphne resisted the sudden urge to shift it away.

"Thank you, Kara," he said to the other woman. She shot him a look - something passed between them, but what it was, Daphne couldn't tell - and then the blonde witch left.

"Take a seat," he said easily. Something was bothering him, but he was hiding it well. She knew - it was the same mask she herself had worn many times.

She did, and green eyes met grey ones.

Any notions of normalcy at that point flew out the window. A fire was burning behind those piercing green eyes, ones that seemed to stare right through her, just as Dumbledore's had that one time in fourth year that she and Pansy Parkinson had been out after curfew and had happened across the Headmaster.

"So, you're a Junior Counsel."

"Yes. I was assigned to deal with this inquiry."

"They're taking some exception to the way I dealt with Fenrir Greyback," Harry remarked.

"They are. Potter-_Commander - _it's a straightforward matter. I interview those involved, and draw conclusions based on your answers and your memories."

"We went to school together, you can call me Harry. And if you rule that my conduct was unsatisfactory?"

"It'll be a slap on the hand. Worst case, it'll come back to bite you the next time you need something overlooked."

"Why would I need something overlooked?"

"Julius Creedy shot himself and jumped into the River Thames of his own accord, did he?"

"Well, that is the official report."

"What I'd do to get you under Veritaserum," she replied archly.

He went from carefree to somber in a split second.

"Be careful what you wish for," he said, shifting his legs and knocking the glass of pumpkin juice towards the floor.

But the sound of smashing glass never came. The glass hung suspended in mid air and then made its way to Harry's opened hand.

He took a sip and effortlessly levitated it back into place on the table.

"Can we begin with some questions?"

He nodded.

"Describe your version of events."

"I saw the chains break loose. Fenrir Greyback was out of the chair in an instant. I acted on instinct. I stood, and used a levitating spell to stop his attack, immediately following it with a Fiendfyre curse."

"Why did you use a fatal curse to kill the victim after you had already successfully contained his advance? Surely the priority was to ensure the safety of the people present, as opposed to enacting punishment on the victim?"

"I was unsure if he was contained by my levitating charm. I was trained not to hesitate, hence the second spell."

"You're one of the most powerful wizards in Britain, yet you were unsure as to whether or not you had successfully executed what is at best a rudimentary piece of magic - magic that not two minutes ago, you used in front of me."

"That's correct."

"And because you were unsure, you used a second spell."

"Yes."

"Would a simple Stunning Spell not have sufficed?"

"My Stunning Spell is exceptionally powerful. It might have killed him too," Harry replied glibly.

Daphne raised her eyebrows.

"I'm not even sure if you're joking."

"I'm not."

"Nevertheless, you used a spell that would all but guarantee the death of the victim. Did you intend to kill Greyback?"

"It seems like you've already answered the question for me."

"But I'd like to hear it from you."

Harry leant back.

"I was not unhappy to see him die. He was responsible for the death of several people whom I cared for deeply. Any more questions?"

"No," she replied, scrawling down the last of her notes, "That'll be fine."

"When do you want my memories? Now?"

"Please. I'm told you have a Pensieve. May I borrow it?"

"Sure."

He stood and went to an alcove, opening the cabinet doors. The Pensieve stood there with a muted glow.

"The whole memory?"

"Yes please."

Harry tapped his wand to his forehead, and drew a silvery strand from it, which he released into the Pensieve.

Daphne dipped her head, and gracefully dove in.

But she did not find herself in Courtroom One.

She watched as Harry fired a stream of Killing Curses into a room of black-robed figures.

She watched as a jet of green light slammed into his chest and saw him fall to the forest floor with lifeless eyes.

She watched as, in the same place, but surrounded by different foes, he plunged Fiendfyre into the gaping wound in his leg.

She watched as two men looked on as Harry shouted an enraged _Crucio_, and his victim dropped to the floor, screaming in unbearable pain.

And then there was emptiness, a vast, gaping void, filled only with a pulsating red light.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed her shoulder, and she was roughly pulled from the Pensieve.

She fell to the floor, gasping for air.

"Merlin, what…fuck…."

"What did you see?" he asked grimly.

"It's true…those people…that man, you tortured him…" she managed to get out, still trying to recover from the shock.

A look of realisation came over his features, and he helped her to her feet, then to the couch.

"It's real. It's all real," she said incredulously.

"I'm sorry," he said, and there was genuine sympathy on his face. "I thought I had control of it."

"Control of what?"

"My memories aren't…working, for want of a better word."

He went to his desk, and brought back a block of chocolate, which she gratefully accepted.

"Can I ask another question?"

"Is it about Greyback?"

"No."

"Ask away."

"During Wrath of Merlin, did you kill my cousin?"

"I did," replied Harry, his voice clear of any emotion.

"How did she die?"

"The Killing Curse. You don't feel pain. Unless you wake up from it."

Daphne stared at him, realising that of course, he would know.

"Thank you, er, for your time. And the chocolate, too."

She made for the door, but paused as Harry spoke again.

"Do you know that Lavender Brown killed herself?"

"I didn't. Honestly, I never really thought about her after Hogwarts. After what Greyback did to her."

"Neither did I," Harry replied, his face an unreadable mask. "Goodbye, Daphne."

With that, she left, returning to her office. Once there, she pulled out the inquiry file, copying her notes point for point in the field marked 'Subject Interview'. In the next field - marked as 'Subject Memory' - she wrote just a single word:

_Inadmissible._

* * *

A/N: Daphne Greengrass is something of a fan favourite in the fan-fiction community. In the books, she's little more than her name and house - meaning that fanfic writers enjoy a great deal of freedom in how she's characterised. I hope you liked my take on her.


	6. Silver Stars

A/N: In case it wasn't obvious, Daphne is a legal counsel, as opposed to a psychiatric counsel.

I hadn't intended to post a new chapter just yet, but as it happens to be Remembrance Day across the Commonwealth and Veteran's Day in the United States, I thought it was appropriate.

Lest we forget.

**VI. Silver Stars**

"Take up our quarrel with the foe."

– In Flander's Fields

* * *

Harry's eyes rested on two small silver stars embedded on the wall at the entrance to the MLE. Below them was an inscription etched into the obsidian.

IN COMMEMORATION OF INTELLIGENCE OFFICERS 'X' AND 'Y'

WHO GAVE THEIR LIVES IN SERVICE TO THE WIZARDING WORLD

There had not been a ceremony. In a short, private affair attended by Harry, Kingsley, and Magnus O'Brien, X's body had been buried in a military grave, and a marker had been placed for Y. Only the small panel on the wall would serve as a solemn reminder of their sacrifice.

"It's very simple," Kingsley remarked.

"It should be. They would've appreciated that," Harry answered.

Quietly, with dignity.

That was how Harry would mourn the deaths of the two men to whom he owed his life.

* * *

"You know, most people tell me that these are bad for my health."

Harry shrugged.

"I don't really care. Besides, it's your place."

Daphne took a long drag on the cigarette, then stubbed it out in the ashtray on her bedside cabinet.

"You buried the Unspeakables today."

"Yeah."

"What were they like?"

"You saw."

"I mean as people."

"They were exceptional wizards with terrible knowledge…and both were very private. I don't know much about them outside Wrath of Merlin. That's what they loved. I don't think they felt truly alive unless they were in the middle of a firefight."

She traced the outline of the scar on his chest left by the Killing Curse.

"Do you? Feel the same way?"

"Too much."

He said no more. Words weren't necessary.

A comfortable silence passed for several minutes until Harry spoke again.

"Do you see your family?"

"I ran into Astoria at Hogsmeade the other day. But I don't see Mother or Father."

"I get it."

He sat up and swung his legs out of the bed.

"Stay."

He paused and looked back to her.

"Just tonight, can you stay?"

There was the faintest hint of a plea in her voice, a vulnerability that he hadn't noticed in the past.

"Daphne, this isn't…we're not–"

"Harry, I'm not going to make this difficult," she replied. "When one of us wants out, it ends. I understand. I just need to be held."

He nodded, and slipped back under the sheets.

* * *

Some time before dawn, Harry woke from a dreamless sleep. Sitting up, he silently contemplated the young woman sleeping next to him. Tousled blonde hair framed her features. In slumber, she found a peace that seemed to elude her when she was awake.

He glanced at his wristwatch. In a few minutes, it would be five a.m.

Time to go.

He picked up his shirt and pulled it over his head, then slipped out of the room.

* * *

"Welcome to Witch Weekly Radio - you read the magazine, now listen in live! This morning, listeners, we've really got a treat for you. In her most candid interview yet, professional Quidditch Chaser Ginny Weasley talks about her family, the Harpies, and Harry."

"Welcome, Ginny."

"Thanks for having me," Ginny replied, speaking into the microphone.

"It's a pleasure. Now, you're the youngest in your family, and it's all older brothers. What's it like being the only Weasley girl?"

"It's a mix of good and bad. My brothers are very overprotective. I'll go out with some teammates and then the next morning I'll get a call from one of them after they've seen my picture in the Sunday Prophet."

"On behalf of journalists everywhere: sorry."

"They take turns lecturing me. Last week it was Bill, I reckon it'll be Percy next. But I can't imagine a family without them."

"Excited about becoming an Aunt?"

"Yes! I'm so pleased for Bill and Fleur."

"How about Charlie? Our readers recently voted him 'most mysterious' in the nationwide poll of eligible bachelors."

"Sorry to disappoint, but Charlie's probably married to a dragon by now," Ginny replied.

"What's your relationship with Harry Potter?"

"I don't have a relationship with Harry."

"Had to ask."

"Have you talked since his return?"

"Yeah, very briefly. I mean, he's still a big part of our lives - my family's life."

"Anything on Wrath of Merlin?"

"He didn't say anything about it."

"Are you curious to know what he did?"

"I saw some of it first-hand when he duelled the Death Eaters at Holyhead. That was enough for me."

"What did you see?"

"I'd rather not say...look, when he returned he wasn't the same person I knew. He's changed in a big way."

"What do you think of his new job?"

"Auror Commander? So many people say he's not ready, but I can't help but think his entire life has been leading to this. If whats-his-name, the former Commander–"

"Robards?"

"Yeah, him. If he hadn't been assassinated by Rookwood's men then things might be different, and Harry wouldn't be running the show. But Harry is a born leader, and I think he'll do a good job."

"Many people don't know this, but you were the part of the group of students Harry led into the Department of Mysteries the night You-Know-Who returned.

"Tom Riddle returned at the end of the Triwizard Tournament."

"Er, yes, of course. I mean, when You-Know-Who infiltrated the Ministry of Magic. That must have been something else."

"I was only fourteen, and it terrified me. We were all terrified."

"It's easy to forget how much you've been through. It's inspirational."

"We fought a war. Wasn't much inspirational about it," Ginny replied brusquely.

Ginny grimaced, then apologised.

"Sorry. I can be a bit blunt."

"Understandable. We live in difficult times." "We're not safe. Far from it."

"You think that the danger is still out there?"

"I don't know what they talk about in the Wizengamot National Security Committee, but my gut tells me that there's a lot we're not told, as a public, as a people."

"For a Quidditch player, you do keep up to date with Ministry affairs."

"Half my family works for the Ministry. It comes with the territory. And to know what Harry is doing, you don't have to look further than the front page of the _Prophet_."

"Let's talk Quidditch. Since coming on off the bench against the Tornados in Week Two, you haven't lost a game. You're 3-0 as a starter, and they're calling you a breakout Chaser. What's your secret?"

"I'm really well supported by my teammates. Gwenog Jones is one of the best Beaters in the world, and it's thanks to her and Carmen that I don't have to worry about Bludgers. Our game plan gives me space for the fluid attacking Quidditch we like to play."

* * *

"Your missus is giving me a headache."

"She's not my missus."

"It's a bloody PR nightmare. Ginny opens her mouth on live radio, and suddenly, we're flooded with people asking us what we're not telling them! On her gut feeling!"

Exasperated, Harry ran a hand through his hair. Receiving a lecture from the Minister's Press Secretary had not been on his to-do list.

"What do you expect me to do?"

"Well, can you ask her to tone it down?"

"Sorry, have you met Ginevra Weasley?"

"I can't say I have."

"The only person with any influence over what she chooses to say is Ginny herself."

"Talk to her, Commander. Please."

"Fine. I won't promise anything though."

The Secretary left, and Harry glared at Kara, who had sat in the corner of the room during the meeting trying not to snigger.

"Most powerful wizard since Albus Dumbledore and you can't do a thing about your ex."

"I take it you haven't met Ginny either," he replied dryly.

* * *

Harry bit into his sandwich as Hermione gave him an incredulous look across the lunch table.

"You're what?!"

"I'm sleeping with Daphne Greengrass."

"How on earth did that start?"

"I ran into her at a bar."

"When?"

"Couple weeks ago."

"What about Ginny?"

"We're not together, Hermione."

"But Daphne Greengrass?"

"What's so bad about her?"

"Well, nothing, I suppose, but still!"

"Still what?"

"Ginny!"

Harry swallowed his pumpkin juice.

"She's been on three dates in Muggle London with the cousin of one of her teammates."

"I didn't think you knew," Hermione replied.

"I'm the bloody Auror Commander, Hermione, there's very little I can't find out. But I know that she doesn't want anything to do with me."

"I'm sorry, Harry."

"Me too."

* * *

"Good afternoon, Mr Potter."

"Afternoon. We haven't met."

"Of course. You can call me X."

Harry's expression hardened.

"I asked the Department to retire that letter."

The man gave a slight smirk.

"The Department of Mysteries is not under the jurisdiction of your Office, Mr Potter."

"In accordance with the First Laws, the jurisdiction of the Auror Commander extends across all of Europe."

The man gave a slick laugh.

"Anyway, the matter at hand."

"My intelligence sharing proposal," Harry stated, not bothering to hide the edge in his voice.

"I'm afraid I haven't had a chance to become acquainted with it."

It was a lie, and both men knew it, but Harry replied anyway.

"I want to know what Mysteries knows."

"That's unprecedented."

"So was someone surviving the Killing Curse."

"Mr Potter, I don't think you fully appreciate the nature of the Department –"

"Of the Department of Mysteries? Are you having a laugh? I got hit by a fucking Nostradamus Light, lived to tell about it, and you're saying I don't _appreciate_ what the Department of Mysteries does?"

"Please, Mysteries doesn't share information as a matter of operating protocol."

"Protocol has a funny habit of changing."

"I doubt it, Mr Potter."

Harry stood, his expression thunderous.

"It's _Commander_. Get out of my office."

The man stalked out as Kara made her way back in. She placed a pitcher of pumpkin juice on his desk and poured herself a glass.

"That sounded like it went well."

"It's going to be impossible to work with that prick."

"This makes it, what, your third argument with a Ministry Department today?"

"Don't rub it in."

"Keep it up and you'll be the poster-boy for interdepartmental relations," Kara added, smirking.

Harry scowled at her.

"Don't you have something better to do?"

"Now that –"

Kara's reply was cut short by the screeching noise of an alarm blaring throughout the Auror Office. A moment later, Albion Stark burst into the office, holding a length of robe.

"Hitwizards are on route. Grab hold."

Harry wrapped the cord around his hand and drew his wand as Kara did the same. Albion tapped his own wand to the rope.

"_Portus. _Stand by!"

"Three…two…one…"

* * *

The attack came without warning.

Four hooded figures suddenly Apparated into the bar, sending Detonating Curses in every direction. Ginny grabbed her teammate and hauled her underneath the nearest table, then reached for her wand.

"Don't move that hand any closer, dearie." One of the hooded figures pointed his wand directly between her eyes.

Ginny silently swore for not being faster as she raised her hands and laid them flat on the floor, helpless. Her eyes assessed the scene. Through the haze she could see two bodies lying motionless on the floor, with another of the hooded figures pointing a wand at the barman.

"You can't do this! The, the Aurors will-"

"Die!"

The barman collapsed to the floor in the flash of green light that the entire wizarding world feared.

The hooded wizard squatted down next to the dead barman. "Do you see any Aurors?"

Anger flared inside the redheaded witch. "He was innocent, you sick bastard!"

The wizard, who looked to be the leader of the group, turned and squinted at her. His eyes gleamed in recognition. She was after all, one of the most famous witches in Wizarding Britain.

"Gin-ny," he purred, each syllable rolling off his tongue, "Weas-ley." He flicked his wand and she slid out from underneath the table.

She glared at him in return.

"Tell me, Ginny Weasley," he bent down close to her, his reeking breath making her turn her face away, "Do you think my men will enjoy the pleasure of your company?"

The red-haired witch spat at him.

He licked his lips in satisfaction. "I was hoping you'd do that...see, when a girl misbehaves, we have to tame her, you understand? My friend here," he gestured at the man training his wand on Ginny, "Well, he enjoys _breaking _some of our more uncooperative acquisitions, and let's just say, some don't always...last long."

"Get fucked!" she replied through gritted teeth.

"Ah, such a foul tongue! We shall have to fix that...now, my friend here is going have to show you what he does to people who use such language."

The other man's dead eyes gleamed. Ginny could see every wrinkle on his brow, every bead of swear, the filthy look in his eyes, and the parting of his lips to speak the curse words…

The words never came.

Instead, a burning white flash filled Ginny's vision. Momentarily blinded, all she heard were sharply barked curses and a blood-curling scream. Blinking, her vision cleared. The hooded man who had been pointing his wand at her was on the floor, blood gushing from the stump that used to be his right arm. More objects swam into focus as Ginny struggled to clear her head.

She saw the leader of the group fire a burning hex at an Auror, who simply gestured in return towards the man, and the leader of the hooded group dropped to the floor with a wordless _thump._

Ginny tried to speak, but her mouth was dry, and suddenly, she felt very dizzy.

"Are you alright Miss…?" A blonde witch, in what Ginny recognised to be Auror robes, grabbed her arm and helped her stand before helping her Harpies teammate out from under the table.

"Weasley," she croaked. "I'm Ginny Weasley."

The Auror nodded, recognising her face. "You're now a witness, Miss Weasley." Conjuring a seat, she gestured Ginny to sit. "This is now an active crime scene. We may be a while. Stay put, I'll be back."

The bar had become flooded with people, witches and wizards in white robes, Healers comforting the other patrons of the bar.

The blonde Auror returned with another man in burnt Auror robes. Another man that Ginny knew all too well.

Harry Potter.

The Auror Commander.

He peered down at the hooded wizard, who until recently, had been in possession of two working arms.

"I got you, you son of a bitch. And don't think you'll be getting your arm back."

Harry turned and looked at her with his piercing green eyes, eyes of a man who has seen and suffered too much.

"I have a habit for saving your life."

"It's a good thing you do." She cracked a small smile, trying to ease the tension between them.

He grimaced, and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you alright?"

"Just a burn, nothing that a Healer can't sort. Robes got most of it."

He appraised her, his eyes searching her face for something he could not find, and then let out a small sigh.

"One of the Trainees will take your statement. A Mediwitch will be here shortly."

"Do you know who they are? The attackers?"

"Yes, but it's classified knowledge. All I can say is that we've been tracking their movements for a while, but we didn't think they were planning something on this scale."

Her hand was on his arm without thinking.

"You got here in time. That's what matters."

"Not quite. People are dead, Ginny. And you…"

He did not finish. He didn't need to to remind her how close she'd come to joining the barman on the floor. And then, if remembering the gulf between them, he distanced himself from her.

"I've got to go."

He tapped two fingers to his forehead - the Auror's salute - and Disapparated.

Ginny stared into the space where he had been.

"Miss Weasley?"

The blonde witch returned and sat her back down.

"Call me Ginny."

"Okay, Ginny. My name's Kara. Now-"

"Since when were Aurors allowed to take people's arms off?" Ginny interjected.

Kara gave her a grim smile. "The Commander has a keen sense of justice. And if anyone deserves it, that bastard does. He has a penchant for hacking his victims to pieces."

Ginny shuddered and tore her eyes away from the figure on the floor, and back to Kara.

"Now, I need you to tell me what happened. Don't leave out any details, no matter how small."

Ginny recounted her story.

"...and then there was this blinding flash, and that's when your lot arrived."

"Ginny! Ginny! Where is she!"

An unmistakable voice cut above the noise of the bar. It was Ron, with Hermione on his heels.

"Thank Merlin you're alright. Bloody hell, Mum's going to kill me."

"Ron!"

"Harry just told me you'd been attacked."

"Yeah, I saw him before. He took some guy's arm off," she replied, her voice strained.

"Good," Ron grunted.

Kara spoke again.

"Miss Weasley, we're going to need to place you in witness protection for your safety. We don't know if you were specifically targeted, but–"

"Fat chance of that. I have training. And a game Thursday," Ginny snorted. "Your safety is a higher priority to the Auror Office than the result of a Quidditch game," Kara replied bluntly.

Ginny gave her a scowl.

"Commander's orders, Miss Weasley."

Ginny was about to tell the blonde witch where she could stick her Commander's order, but stopped when Hermione gave her a look that spoke volumes.

"Fine. But I'd better be out by Thursday."

* * *

Harry walked to the Wizengamot Chamber with Kingsley at his side.

"What the fuck happened?"

"Kingsley, I-"

"Every decision I make is criticised on the front page. If your Office doesn't catch dark wizards, and they're free to wreak havoc, then it becomes my fault, and my problem!"

"I understand."

The Minister stopped abruptly outside the doors of the Wizengamot chambers and fixed him with a penetrating stare. Harry met it.

"I hope you do. For both our sakes."

They both walked into the chamber and took their seats, Kingsley with the senior officials, and Harry with the Magical Law Enforcement body. Busy chatter filled the chamber as people continued to arrive, claiming their seats.

"This Council now comes to order!" Kingsley stood as silence fell amongst the crowd.

"As you may well be aware, an act of terror has occurred today, claiming innocent lives in four public houses - all magical establishments - across England and Wales. This Council recognises the Auror Commander."

Harry stood, glancing over the assembled faces. All eyes were on him. He cleared his throat.

"Not an hour ago, a group of wizards and witches known to the Auror Office attacked four separate wizarding establishments; three bars and a restaurant. The attack was unprovoked, unannounced, and restricted detonating curses and Unforgivables were used. Five are dead, and another two are in critical condition at St Mungo's. Auror response teams arrived within minutes and apprehended all but two of the group. I can also confirm at this time that a wizard known publicly as the Swindon Hacker was caught participating in one of the attacks and is amongst the apprehended."

Gasps and cries of shock rang openly around the chamber. One wizard stood up.

"Why didn't you prevent this from happening?"

"As I said, the attack was unannounced. The group–"

"But you said that the group was known to your Department! Surely you must have known something was afoot?!" another member of the Wizengamot interjected, pointing an angry finger at him. Shouts of agreement ran through the Chamber.

"Why did it take so long to apprehend the Swindon Hacker?"

"The Swindon Hacker is a dark wizard who practices in the arcane! This group gave him safe harbour. We can't–"

"Commander, why did two escape your grasp? Surely Aurors hold themselves to a higher standard?"

"My personnel are highly trained professionals–"

"And were you authorised to use Unforgivables?"

"My office has a mandate to use any means necessary to defeat or capture Dark forces!"

"Potter, are problems in your personal life affecting your ability to do your job?"

"I don't see what my personal life has–"

"The everyday wizard lives in a climate of fear! We are meant to live in peaceful times, Mr Potter, but the incompetence of your office isn't helping us to achieve that goal!"

"He's too young!"

"What does a boy know about managing a Ministry department? And the Aurors at that!"

Harry stared out into the sea of accusing faces, faces that had not long ago shook his hand with sincerity and joy at his arrival in the Ministry. Faces now distraught with panic and reason ruined by fear.

Fear had always been his worst enemy.

His own visage became a grim mask as camera flashbulbs went off, assaulting him with bright light.

He could see the next morning's headline in the _Prophet_ already:

_Grilled by the Wizengamot, Harry can't stand the heat._

* * *

A/N: Chances are, you're not too happy about the latest turn of events for Harry romance-wise. Trust me, everything happens for a reason. Next chapter soon.


	7. The Department of Ungentlemanly Warfare

A/N: Back in _Wrath of Merlin_, I alluded to Harry and Ginny sleeping together after the Battle of Hogwarts (one of several flashbacks in Chapter Fifteen). Considering their emotional state and their reunification after Voldemort's defeat, I don't think it's unrealistic. Furthermore, I don't think that Harry being celibate until he gets back with Ginny is realistic either. What he and Daphne have is physical. They are both broken people, in their own ways, looking to feel just _something_.

I don't feel I acknowledge those of you who are kind enough to review _Auror Commander_ nearly enough, so this chapter's shoutout goes to Kar and Nova.8. Thank you to you both and to anyone who takes the time to review my work.

Finally, I'd like to shamelessly plug my new oneshot, _1945\. _It's not directly connected to _Auror Commander_, but in my humble opinion, it's well worth a read. Check it out on my profile page.

**VII. The Department of Ungentlemanly Warfare**

"I know I had no hand in making this war, and I know I will make more sacrifices today than any of you to secure peace."

– William Sherman

* * *

"Commander, you can't place my client in witness protection without her express permission. Since Miss Weasley has no desire to remain under the protection of the Auror Office, she must be released immediately."

Harry stared impassively at the Holyhead team lawyer.

"My Office disputes that right."

"Your Office –"

A knock on the door cut him off, and Magnus O'Brien entered.

"Sorry, Counsellor, I trust you're acquainted with the Senior Warlock?" asked Harry, his expression neutral.

"Seeing as he's written half the law I practice, yes, Commander, I am."

"Good. Then you won't object to me representing the interests of the MLE in this matter," said Magnus.

The Holyhead lawyer noticeably paled.

"To business then," Magnus grinned. "Counsellor, ordinarily, the right of free path and passage would allow your client to go where she pleases, however, that right can be overruled on the grounds of national security."

"Senior Warlock, if I had a sickle for every time someone from the Ministry used 'national security' as an excuse –"

"You'd be richer than you already are," Magnus interjected. "The facts are without dispute. Your client was victim and witness to an act of terrorism. Terrorism constitutes a significant threat to the citizens of Wizarding Britain, and is therefore a matter of national security. Moreover, we don't know if your client - considering her involvement in Dumbledore's Army, the Order of the Phoenix, and the Battle of Hogwarts - was explicitly targeted, or just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. My point, Counsellor, is that the Commander here has vast reaching powers - some, I might add, granted by the First Laws - to act in the interests of safeguarding the nation."

The Harpies lawyer let out a resigned sigh.

"Fine. But if she wasn't targeted –"

"She'll be free to go as soon as we know."

* * *

_Ginny_

The room was comfortably furnished, and the Aurors had been polite to a fault, but neither had improved my resentment towards them, the MLE, or a certain black-haired wizard as I woke that morning in an Auror safehouse.

I rose from my bed as a knock came on the door.

"Come in!"

The door opened and a witch entered. I recognised her as Kara, the same Trainee who had attended me after the attack on the bar.

"Good morning, Miss Weasley. Breakfast is downstairs when you're ready."

"Can I leave here yet?"

"Unfortunately for you, you're stuck with us until we can ensure that you weren't the target."

"My lawyers –"

"Your lawyer came out of a meeting with the Commander twenty minutes ago," replied the witch, handing me a slip of parchment emblazoned with the Holyhead crest on the letterhead. "I'm here to give you this."

I scanned the hastily scrawled note from the team lawyer, letting a look of disgust come over my features.

"This is bollocks!"

"I'm sorry, Miss Weasley, there's nothing I can do."

"I want to speak with Harry."

"The Commander is busy. I can pass a message to him, if you'd like."

"Yeah, sure," I replied waspishly. "You can tell him to go fuck himself."

Kara scowled in return.

"Do you have any idea what he went through? Any idea at all?" she asked me quietly.

"I know what he went through, what he did," I replied.

""Did he tell you what happened to him in Azkaban?" she asked, her expression cold. "He was held captive there. Have you ever been to Azkaban? Actually seen the place?"

"No."

"I have, just once. They take the Aurors there in our first year training. At the bottom, there's an abyss, where the Dementors live. Where they _feed_. Thousands of them."

She paused, her thoughts suddenly far from where we stood.

"That's where they put him. Can you imagine, with all that he has endured, the suffering and misery that has marred his entire life, the agony of having your soul fed to a swarm of Dementors?"

I had no answer.

"I didn't think so," she replied, and stalked away.

* * *

I had spent most of my day reviewing footage from my last games, taking notes on areas in my flying that I felt could do with improvement, and working on the new set pieces that Gwenog had designed for myself and my fellow Chasers. I didn't mind the homework, but I wanted to be in the air.

That was where I belonged.

For the second time that day, I was interrupted by a knock on my door.

"Yeah?"

"Can I come in?"

I gave a start at the voice. I opened the door to see Harry standing there, hands thrust causally into the pockets of his robes, offsetting the solemnness of his features.

"Hi."

"I hear Kara gave you an earful," he replied.

"Yeah, she did," I replied sullenly.

There was a heavy pause in the air between us as he watched me with an unreadable expression.

"I don't remember her from Hogwarts," I added, desperate to fill the agonising silence between us.

"You wouldn't. She went to Beauxbatons. She's French on her mother's side."

I nodded.

"I am sorry, about this," he said, gesturing around the room. "But we have to keep you safe."

"How long do you think it will be?"

"Hopefully not too long. We have a lead on their location. If it works out, you'll be out of here in a couple of days."

He looked tired, and I was reminded of the weight that rested on his shoulders.

"Listen, Ginny,"

"I don't want to hear it, Harry," I said, exasperated.

"I know. Which is why I'm not going to talk. You said that I'm no longer the same person, and you're not wrong. This is why."

He reached into his robes, and pulled out a silver vial that he handed to me. Inscribed on the vial were the words '1998-1999'. My mouth dropped as I realised what I was holding.

"I'll get you a Pensieve this afternoon."

"Is this –"

"This is everything."

"Harry, I –"

"You need to see this. _I_ need you to see this."

* * *

It had been a day since Harry had handed me the silver vial.

I stared at it now, sitting on my bedside cabinet.

Its contents held the answers that I had wanted for so long.

But I was scared of what I might discover.

True to his word, Harry had arranged for a Pensieve to be brought to my room. I had to admit, that was impressive. There were only a handful in all Magical Britain. To get one took considerable clout.

I picked up the vial, turning it over in my hands. If I didn't do this now, I never would. Gingerly, I opened the vial, and a silver stream of memory flooded into the Pensieve. I gently placed the vial down, and stared into the murky depths. Nervousness wasn't a trait I associated with myself, but as I looked in, my confidence deserted me.

This was it.

This was everything I wanted to know, and everything I feared to discover.

I let go of a breath I hadn't realised I was holding in.

And dove in.

I found myself in a windowless briefing room. Kingsley Shacklebolt stood next to Harry as he met two other wizards.

"Welcome to the Department of Ungentlemanly Warfare," said the first wizard.

"I'm X," said the other wizard. "The comedian over there is Y."

* * *

Harry sat with his senior Aurors around a briefing room table.

"What's going on?"

"As of five minutes ago: we've zeroed in on their location, but we can't make an assault. They have hostages, most of whom are Muggles. They're threatening to kill a hostage every two hours until their demands are met."

"What do they want?"

"Direct passage to Russia in exchange for the hostages."

"They're desperate. There's no way we can get in without them killing hostages. There's no way they can get out without us tailing them."

Harry closed his eyes momentarily, deep in thought.

"I want a team of Obliviators and a Hitwizard Squadron on standby. I will lead an assault team to storm the house. A second team of four will create a diversion."

He looked around the assembled faces.

"Who are the best three flyers?"

Dominic Neeson, Marcus Savage, and John Proudfoot raised their hands.

"Good, you're with me. Ever jumped off a broom at a thousand feet before?"

Proudfoot kept his hand raised as his colleagues gave him surprised looks.

"Long story," he shrugged.

"Tell us another time. Albion, you're leading the diversionary team. Hawke, you're in charge of the perimeter," Harry delegated. "Understood?"

There was a chorus of 'ayes' from around the table.

"Good. We reconvene on site."

* * *

"We have a problem," announced Hawke, striding into the tent that served as the base of operations.

Half-suited in combat gear, Harry ran a hand through his hair in irritation.

"What?" he asked curtly.

"A reporter from the _Prophet._ Myers, her name is. She's local."

"What does she know?"

"Too much."

"Alright, bring her in. I'll see what I can do."

* * *

_Ginny_

I watched as Harry traipsed through the snowfall in Godric's Hollow, to the ruin of his parent's home, and then, as the crowd and the candles faded away, to their graves. I could hear the ringing of bells.

I watched as he bade a final farewell to Dolores Umbridge, before the Dementor glided through the bars of the cell, fixating on the woman cowering in the corner.

I watched as he walked through a ruined orphanage, desecrated by the foul work of Death Eaters. I watched as he stepped over blackened, mutilated bodies, and blood, everywhere blood.

I watched as he set fire to a Death Eater named Uric Dolohov. I watched as he _burned_.

I watched as he blasted into a room full of Death Eaters, slaughtering each under a maelstrom of curses, his features illuminated by a never-ending series of green flashes, each signifying a Killing Curse taking a life.

I watched as he said goodbye to Y, his voice in his throat, as the other man prepared to detonate his very soul.

I watched as the Nostradamus Light tore the magic from his mind.

I watched as he confronted Augustus Rookwood whilst bound and chained. I watched as he descended into the Pit, where a swarm of livid, rattling darkness awaited him.

And as I watched, I felt his horror, his hatred, his torment, his cold, chilling assessment, his embrace of the bleak necessity that was placed in front of him.

I felt the battle rage inside his soul. I watched as it bent and then broke.

And then I felt his sorrow, his anguish, and his hope flicker to dust as he ran his finger along the edge of a photograph of me.

* * *

Samantha Myers was politely but firmly escorted to the tent.

"Miss Myers, welcome," said Harry. He sat behind a small desk, and gestured for her to take a seat in front of it.

"Why am I here?" the witch asked, taking the seat.

"You have the final draft of a story ready to print on the front page of the _Prophet _about a live hostage situation."

"And?"

"You're going to hold the story."

"You don't have the authority to censor me."

"I don't think you understand. You're going to hold the story," Harry replied, an edge in his voice.

"No."

"Lives depend on it. The last thing we need right now is a media circus."

"You can't prove that. I have deadlines to meet, and this story is going to _sell_. Why should I?" she challenged.

Harry leaned back in his chair.

"Funny thing, life is. No matter how good things might seem, no matter how charmed your existence might be, things still inevitably, irrevocably go wrong. Your mother loses her savings. Your father is injured and let go from his job. Your friend travels abroad on holiday and disappears."

Harry slid a slip of parchment across the desk.

"Ever heard of a Get out of Jail Free Card? This is a _Get out of Hell Card_. At some point in your life, Merlin forbid, if no one else will help you, if you have no one else to turn to, follow the instructions on that parchment."

He met her gaze with a hard stare.

"_That_ is why you are going to hold this story."

* * *

A thousand feet in the air, Harry made a gesture with his hand, and the group following him on brooms slowed to a hover. He keyed the earpiece that allowed him to communicate with the rest of the group and the Aurors on the ground.

"On my mark."

A chorus of 'Ready' echoed softly throughout the group in reply.

A voice came through the headset. "…standby…"

"We're in position," Harry replied.

"…breaching wards…confirmed, breaching…"

"…wards are breached…window is open. You are cleared to engage…repeat, you are cleared to engage."

"Go."

And with that, the Auror Commander jumped off his broom.

* * *

The first of the assailants dropped to the floor with a muffled thump, unconscious. Harry made a motion to Proudfoot, who bound the dark wizard.

Harry continued down the hallway, then stopped. A second wizard had appeared, his wand drawn. With a sudden twist of his hand, Harry silenced his voice, followed by a sharp wand slash that slit the man's throat.

They crept along the hallway for a few moments longer, before Harry stopped, and pointed to the floor. He gestured with his wand, and then raised his hand, signalling three fingers…two fingers…one finger…and then blasted through the floor into the room below.

The Auror Commander moved impossibly quickly. Brutal white lightning burst through three robed figures before Harry had hit the floor. A fourth was flung into the wall with a flick of his wand. Marcus Savage parried the curse of another, as Harry turned to face the last of their opponents.

He held a child by the hair, with a wand pointed at his hostage's throat.

"One move, and I'll kill him," said the wizard, beads of sweat coalescing on his forehead.

"It's over," said Harry, his wand trained on the man. "Drop your wand."

Behind him, Savage had subdued his opponent. Harry spoke again.

"_Imperio."_

As if fighting invisible strings, the man's wand hand shook, and he released his grip on the child. Eyes wide and fearful, the dark wizard placed his wand under his own throat. A green flash illuminated the room, and the wizard collapsed to the floor.

"Call it in," Harry said quietly.

* * *

"We have five dead, three alive. Hostages all accounted for. Memories are being modified as we speak," reported Stark, as the group of Aurors reassembled in the tent.

"Nice work, Commander," Siobhan said.

"We needed this. Someone let Myers know she's welcome to file her story with the _Prophet_," Harry instructed."

"What's next?" Proudfoot asked.

"The three we've captured. Bring them here. I want answers," Harry replied grimly.

* * *

"What happens here does not leave this room. Understood?" spoke Harry softly.

The group of Aurors nodded in understanding.

Harry drew up a chair and sat down, facing level with the wizard bound in chains.

"Do you know who I am?"

The black robed wizard spat at Harry.

The Commander removed his glasses, and conjured a facecloth, wiping the lenses and then his face. With a sharp, vicious movement, he forced the cloth into the wizard's mouth as he struggled against his bonds.

"This is not going to be pleasant."

Harry grabbed the wizard's hair and pressed his wand to the man's forehead. The curse that followed was harsh and guttural, and its impact was immediate. The dark wizard thrashed about in pain, his screams muffled by the wad of cloth in his mouth. Black, spider-like veins branched out from where Harry's wand was pressed into his temple.

Finally, he withdrew his wand, and the wizard slumped forwards, drawing shallow breaths. But Harry wasn't done.

"_Legilimens."_

Albion Stark let out a soft expletive.

After what seemed like an age, Harry broke from his trance, and Stunned the dark wizard. He turned to the group of Aurors standing witness.

"Bring in the next one."

* * *

_Ginny_

I rose from the Pensieve, exhausted and dizzy. A wave of nausea hit me as a tumult of conflicting emotions swirled through my mind.

Harry Potter had gone to war. And the war had changed him. What he had done, and what had been done to him beggared belief.

But I had been mistaken. Despite what he had endured, what evil his hands had wrought, he was still Harry.

He was still the boy who had looked so lost, so unsure and afraid, waiting outside the Platform at King's Cross.

He was still the boy who had drawn a shimmering blade encrusted with rubies from the Sorting Hat, and plunged it through a Basilisk.

He was still the boy who had competed in the Triwizard Tournament against his wishes, only to be plunged into the nightmare of Voldemort's resurrection and return.

He was still the boy who had taught me how to cast a Patronus, even as the fresh scars spelling out the words 'I must not tell lies' ate into his flesh.

He was still the boy who had kissed me in the middle of a crowded Common Room as my world had changed forever.

He was still the Boy Who Lived.

* * *

Albion walked out of the tent and over to where Siobhan and a third Auror, Dominic Neeson, stood.

"I've seen enough."

"How many more?"

"He's doing the last one now."

"Do you know what we just saw? Wrath of Merlin, in the flesh," Neeson stated, answering his own question.

"At the discretion of the Auror Commander. That's what the law says about this sort of shit."

"I don't like it, but what other way is there?"

"I'd prefer Veritaserum," Siobhan replied.

"So would a lot of people, but you know better, Siobhan. It's too unreliable."

"Potter's a Legilimens, isn't he?" she said.

"To force your way in through Legilimency is exhausting, and it leaves you vulnerable to a counter-assault. That Mysteries shit he's doing, it's some variation on Obliviation combined with dark magic. It renders the victim near-incapable of using Occlumency, destroying parts of the magical mind, but leaving other parts fully intact," Albion answered.

"Could you do that?" Neeson asked him.

"With Potter's finesse? Not a chance."

Their conversation halted as Harry walked out of the tent, his mouth a grim line.

He took a swig of Pepper-Up potion and cleared his throat.

"I have a name," Harry announced.

"Nazar."

"Never heard of him," Albion replied.

"Neither. And that worries me," Harry replied.

Harry removed his bloodied jacket, replacing it with an Auror greatcloak.

"I need an international Portkey."

"Where are you going?" Siobhan asked.

"Paris. There's someone I need to see."

* * *

It was late when Harry made his way into the great hall nestled within the labyrinth of catacombs underneath Paris.

"_Bienvenue_, Commander," the Parisian greeted.

"Thank you for seeing me."

"What brings you 'ere?"

"I want to know about the man they call Nazar."

"Do not say zat name in 'ere!" the Parisian replied, a stricken look crossing his features.

"You know of him?"

"Zhey say 'e is enormous - seven feet tall. Part-giant and strong as ten men."

"So I've heard. Where is he based?"

"I do not know where 'e can be found."

"_You_ don't know?"

"_Non. _I do not. 'e lives in ze shadows, as we do. And men in shadows are not so easily found."

"Then that's where I'll look."

"You don't want to find him, Potter. 'e is too much, even for you."

The Auror Commander fixed the man sitting in front of him with a expression as cold and as deadly as ice.

"We'll see."

* * *

A/N: For all of you waiting patiently for Harry and Ginny to get their act together, I promise you that we're getting there. As always, I appreciate reviews, and enjoy hearing your feedback. Thanks for reading.


	8. The Mont

A/N: To all my new readers, welcome, and to those already familiar with the story, welcome back. 'tis the season to be reading fanfiction.

**VIII. The Mont**

"The third day comes a frost, a killing frost."

– William Shakespeare

* * *

_Ginny_

"Miss Weasley, I'm pleased to inform you that we apprehended the perpetrators in a raid last night. You're free to rejoin your team at Holyhead. I can arrange a Ministry escort, if you'd like."

"I need to see Harry."

"I'm sorry, the Commander is unavailable."

"Where is he?"

"That's classified information. I can only tell you that he left the country last night."

"Do you know when he'll be back?"

"Couldn't tell you if I did."

I made a noise of frustration.

"Do you have some parchment?"

"Sure," she replied, handing me an unfolded Ministry memo. I scribbled a quick note, folded it, and handed it back to the Auror.

"When he comes back to London, can you give him this?"

* * *

_Harry_

"I'm going to need something," I said to the Parisian. "Anything at all."

"I do not want 'is attention."

"You're genuinely afraid of him?" I queried.

"Power does not mean invincibility, Commander."

"I'm well aware."

The Parisian sighed.

"Say zhat I 'ad something - what can you do for me in return?"

"I turn a blind eye to what happens here, you tell me what I need to know."

"Fine. Be it on your 'ead. Zhere is a place in ze mountains. A mining village, called ze Mont. Goblins and men mine for gold. Nazar 'as been known to use gold to finance 'is operations."

I nodded. "Thank you."

"Be careful, Commander. Accidents 'appen in zhese mountains."

* * *

"We've had word from the Commander. He's leaving Paris for the Alps," said Albion, addressing the group of senior Aurors.

"Did he give his destination?" Siobhan asked.

"A mining village, called the Mont. Bleakest part of Europe. Anyone know it?"

"Aye, I do. Unsavoury reputation. Nothing that Potter can't handle," said Marcus Savage, speaking from the corner of the room.

"He's after a lead."

"This Nazar bloke?" Marcus asked.

"Yeah. I don't know why he's a priority, but if the Commander is worried, than so am I."

* * *

_Harry_

I rounded the corner of the steep pass to catch my first sight of the Mont.

The village was perched on a wide rocky ledge on the mountainside. A gushing waterfall separated the pass from the village, creating a deep ravine spanned by a narrow bridge that looked ready to fall apart. I was reassured by the subtle hum of magical energy emanating from the area. Likely it was holding everything together.

I crossed the bridge gingerly, and traipsed through the snow to the inn. Inside, a man wearing a greasy apron strung around a belly that would rival Slughorn's leaned on the counter.

"I owled ahead. Reservation is under Black."

"Gostkowski. Call me Gost. Everyone else 'ere does."

I nodded.

"You're still wanting two weeks?" he asked.

"At least. This should cover it."

I handed him a pouch of coins, which he quickly counted into a cast iron pot sitting behind the counter. Putting the lid back on the pot, he tapped the lid with his wand and then shot me a warning look.

"Nasty surprise awaitin' any creature who tries to make off with the makings."

"I'm just here for the room."

"And the food too, I 'ope," the innkeep replied.

He peered at me carefully.

"You look familiar. 'Ave we met before?"

"Some say I look like Harry Potter. I think it's the eyes."

Gost shrugged and accepted my explanation.

"Aye, must be it. Follow me."

He left the counter and I followed him into the bar.

"Meet the scum of Europe. Most are 'ere to mine gold. Contract to the goblins, they do."

I followed him as he weaved his way through the crowd at the bar, ignoring three separate fights between the patrons at his establishment.

"You'll have to 'cuse the fightin'. Half this lot don't know how to do much else."

"It's not a problem," I replied.

He made his way laboriously behind the bar.

"Drink?"

"Not right now, thanks," I declined.

"Suit yerself," he said, stooping to fetch a key on a worn leather strap, which he handed to me.

"Room 32. Top floor."

I made my way up several flights of stairs to my room. After wrestling with the rusty lock, I shoved open the door to reveal my home for the next six months.

A single lantern hung from the low ceiling, giving the room an eerie half-shadow. One of the wardrobe doors had a tentative grip on its hinges, and there was no chair at the rickety wooden desk in the corner. A spidery crack ran along the glass in the doors leading onto the balcony, and a prior occupant had left gouges in the floorboards. Surprisingly, the bed was comfortable and had fresh linen.

Still, it was better than a cupboard under the stairs.

I flung a few quick _Reparo's _around, and conjured a couple of chairs to complete the furnishings. I then weaved a complex ward across every square inch of the place. It would take an army of cursebreakers weeks to break through the door.

Satisfied with security, I dug out my belongings from my rucksack, and hung up my clothing, shedding my greatcloak and dragonhide body armour for lighter garb.

I glanced at my watch: it was late, and although I had travelled the majority of the journey by Portkey, I was definitely tiring. Extinguishing the lantern with a wave of my hand, I went to my rest.

* * *

Dawn had not yet crept over the horizon when I was awoken by an argument in the hallway. I swung my legs out of the bed as a third voice joined.

"Shaddup you two! Don't bicker in my 'allway when the both of you are a week behind on rent!"

Gost ignored their protests and continued.

"It's pay tomorrow, so rather than spendin' it all on the Bludging, you can pay me first. Else you'll be out on your arses!"

"An' if you want to argue, do it quietlike. There's a new guest in 32. An' he's paid a fortnight in advance!"

Sometime later, I made my way down to the hall.

"Sleep alright, Mr Black?" asked the innkeep, still wearing the same greasy apron from last night.

I nodded in reply.

"Breakfast?"

"Please."

"Find a seat, I'll send someone over with a menu."

I took a table next to the tall windows that spanned the far wall. High in the mountains, the view from the hall was breathtaking. I could see snowy peaks right across the horizon, and below, a trail of miners made their way over another pass.

The dim roar of the waterfall mixed with the hum of conversation amongst the diners.

"Sir?"

I turned away from the window to a pretty brunette in a simple white apron, her hair tied in a loose knot. She seemed no older than I, and her eyes betrayed a sadness hidden behind a forced smile.

"The name is James Black. No need for sir."

She nodded. "What would you like for breakfast?"

I gave her my order and resumed my study of my surroundings as she slipped away.

The Mont attracted the worst and the weary. Some came tired, same came seeking opportunity, seeking their fortune. Most had run from something, or left someone behind.

But I also sensed a hidden strength here, a resilience born from the struggle of a previous life.

Shortly, the brunette returned with my meal.

I fished two Galleons from my jacket and handed them to her.

"Keep the change."

Her eyes lay transfixed on the gold for only a moment, before darting about the room as she hastily slipped the coins into her pocket. It was obvious that British Galleons were a rarity at the Mont.

Her smile shifted and became genuine as she studied me.

"Marissa. My name's Marissa."

_Harry Potter. I'm Harry Potter. Pleased to meet you._

"It's a lovely name."

She gave me another smile.

"Anything else I can get you?"

"That's all for now, thanks."

I sipped at my coffee as she left, contemplative. I wondered what she had run from, and what she had left behind. Something intrigued me about this her, and why she was at the Mont.

* * *

I left the inn and walked around the village after my breakfast, my greatcloak warding off the chill breeze. In addition to the inn, the Mont was a meagre collection of three streets, a few score houses, and half a dozen shops.

I followed the mountain pass past the inn, in the direction I had seen the miners go earlier. The path ended fifteen minutes later at a large shed perched seemingly precariously on the mountainside, the words 'GRONWICK &amp; CO' painted on the wall in faded red lettering.

I entered the shed through a door marked 'VISITORS' and was greeted by a surly goblin.

"What's your business?"

"Investment. I'd like to speak to Gronwick."

The goblin gave a harsh laugh.

"Gronwick's been dead for three years. Killed in his sleep."

"Then who owns the mines?"

"Just the greed of men," the goblin replied darkly.

"Who do I speak to if I want to visit?"

"You're speaking to him. You'll need a broom. Hire costs five sickles."

I picked out the coins from my pouch and placed them on the counter. He bit into one of the coins, gave a satisfied grunt, and led me to the brooms. I skimmed over the assortment of Cleansweeps before my eyes came to rest on a handle with _N1600 _inscribed on it.

"The Nimbus, please."

Old habits die hard.

He unshackled the broom and it leapt eagerly into my outstretched hand. I followed the goblin - who hadn't bothered to offer me his name - to a set of large wooden doors.

"Stay behind the line."

My feet stood halfway over a faded yellow line marked on the stone floor. I shuffled backwards as the goblin pulled on a thick chain. The doors swung outwards with a groan, and I was hit with a blast of wind flecked with snow. I was immediately grateful for my greatcloak.

Barely an arms length in front of the yellow line, the ledge became a sheer drop. I peered over and swallowed. I wasn't afraid of heights, but nevertheless the ground was thousands of feet below me.

"It's ten minutes due north," instructed the goblin. "You'll see the lights. If you get lost, you're dead in these mountains. No one'll rescue you."

I nodded in reply, and set off, carving a path through the icy air.

* * *

Sure enough, after ten minutes of flight two specks of bright light shone to beckon me. I flew towards them as they grew into great flaming signal fires - enchanted to stay ablaze.

The fires straddled the edge of a large rocky plateau upon which sat a cluster of huts, a couple of larger sheds, and the cavernous entrance to the mines inside the mountain.

After a brief word with a guard, I made my way to an office occupied by a foreman with a sallow expression and a shaved head.

"James Black," I greeted. "I'm from England. My business partners and I have fallen on hard times following the war, and we're considering investment opportunities."

"I thought you'd fallen on hard times," he replied, his eyes narrowing.

"One must spend money to make money," I replied smoothly.

The man gave a satisfied grunt.

"Talk to me about the miners. What's their share like?"

"Each miner belongs to a camp. If someone strikes lucky, everyone in his camp benefits. Fosters a team effort. Means that every man pulls his weight, too. If you're seen slacking whilst your fellows are hard at work…well, it's a long fall down the mountain."

"Of course. Would you mind if I took a look around?"

He gave a nonchalant shrug. "Free world. Try stealing anything from this lot though, and you won't make it out alive," he added.

I returned to the mines each day for the next three days, making my way around each camp asking seemingly innocuous questions. My mind was busier, using Legilimency to flit across each and every consciousness. All I needed was the faintest hint, a mention, a whisper.

Frustrated that my time in the mines thus far had not borne any fresh information about Nazar, I returned to my room at the inn, exhausted. Near-constant Legilimency was taking its toll.

I met the maid Marissa on the stairs, carrying a wash basket.

"I couldn't get into your room –"

"You were trying to get into my room?" I teased.

Her cheeks reddened.

"Oh, I mean...I do the linen on a Thursday, you see."

I shot her a quick grin, and unlocked my door with a flick of my hand.

The wards I had placed on my room made their presence known, and Marissa made a small exclamation.

"Sorry," I apologised, and drew my wand, rekeying the wards.

"They're strong," she remarked, a strained edge in her voice.

"I like my privacy," I replied, my eyes meeting hers.

It was almost by accident. Habitually, my mind reached out, brushing over her consciousness.

_Nazar._

She gave me a puzzled look.

"Are you alright?"

I recovered quickly.

"Yeah, sure."

"Well, here," she handed me a freshly pressed towel, and turned to go.

"Marissa, wait."

I cast a silencing charm around the room.

"What do you know about Nazar?"

Even though we were the only two people in the room, her eyes darted around fearfully.

"Nothing!" she hissed.

"You can tell me. It's safe."

I grabbed her shoulders, meeting her eyes again.

"Trust me."

She swallowed nervously, then nodded.

"Gost will be pissed if I don't finish the laundry. I'll come back tonight."

I wanted the information now, but I didn't want to raise any kind of suspicion. And I needed her trust. I nodded.

"Okay."

* * *

True to her word, Marissa returned that evening, with a couple of bottles on a tray.

"Room service."

I gave her a grin. The idea of room service at the inn was laughable.

"Butterbeer?"

"Sure," I replied, thankful for the drink.

"What can you tell me?"

"I don't really know much about Nazar. I know about Golan though. He's Nazar's lieutenant. He looks after the interests of Nazar's organisation in this region."

"Like the mine?" I queried, then took a swig of my drink.

"Nazar owns the mine. Or rather, he's the one who profits from it."

"Talk to me about Golan."

"He visits, usually at least once a season to keep an eye on things. He stays here at the inn. Top floor, every time. Gost doesn't really like it, but it's not like he has a choice."

"What is he like?"

"He's scary. Even Gost wouldn't dare give him lip. Last winter, Golan got in an argument with one of his men, right in the dining hall. Golan just grabbed him, and quick as you like, cut his throat. There was blood everywhere."

"Do you know when he'll be back here?"

"I don't. He last visited two months ago. So sometime in the next two months maybe."

I nodded, then put a hand to my stomach. The Butterbeer dropped from my hand. I fixed the girl with an enraged look.

"What did –"

My sentence finished unspoken as I collapsed to the ground.

* * *

I came to with a groan. My hands and feet were bound in thick chains. My head pounded and my clothing was sticky with sweat. My stomach heaved.

I was in a dimly lit room filled with robed figures. Marissa sat huddled in a corner, her eyes fearful. When my eyes met hers, she spoke.

"I'm sorry. I had to tell them."

"Shut the bitch up," said a voice.

One of the men dealt her a stunning backhand, and she crumpled to the floor.

I gave a yell, struggling against my bonds, and then, overcome with nausea, I retched violently.

"Don't bother. The poison in your body is meant to keep you weak," the voice continued.

I peered in the direction of the voice.

"Golan?" I asked, my voice weak.

The man gave a short, dour laugh.

"No, not me. But you'll meet him soon enough."

* * *

I awoke some time later in a cell, chained to the wall. A thin grey blanket was the only source of warmth. If I had to guess, I was being held captive in the mines.

My head was still spinning, and crawling as far as the chains would allow, I vomited in the far corner of the cell.

I didn't know how long I had been a prisoner, but recalling the words of my captors, I didn't have long. They had taken the two knives I kept stashed on my person, but they hadn't taken my boots. Taking my boot off was a struggle thanks to my chains, but I managed in due course. Breathing heavily, I reached inside my boot, grasping at a small silver device hidden inside the sole.

* * *

"Golan gets 'ere today. And then you'll be cursing the day you was born."

I had not made friends with the man whose job it was to bring me bread and water over what I estimated was the last two days of my captivity. The bread was tossed lazily at my feet, but I scrambled to collect it. I only had to survive.

Hours passed. I had little to do but think on what Marissa had told me. I was sure Golan or Nazar had some sort of leverage on her, but I didn't know what. Nor did I know if what she said was true.

Suddenly, I heard a yell, followed by a muffled thump, and the clip of swift footsteps as they approached my cell.

I looked up to see the faces of Albion Stark and Marcus Savage, garbed in full combat regalia. I got to my feet with a grin.

"What took you so long?"

* * *

My colleagues made quick work of freeing me from my chains. Marcus handed me a flask, from which I took a long drink. The potion hit me with a jolt, counteracting the poison flowing through me.

"That's got some kick," I gasped.

"Good. You should be right shortly," he replied.

"Where's your wand?" Albion asked.

"In my room at the village."

"Here," he said, handing me a spare.

"Thanks. Let's get out of here," I replied.

"Passage should be clear. We dealt with most of the guards on the way in," said Marcus.

"What about the miners?"

"None the wiser. Most are unaware that their efforts serve a more nefarious purpose."

"This has been a bloody waste of time," I said, annoyed.

"Not altogether. We have access to one of Nazar's revenue streams. Money talks, Commander. It's not a great lead, but it's a lead nonetheless."

Exiting the mine, we made our way unseen to the broom-shed. Marcus broke the door open, then picked up a broom, before handing a second one to Albion.

"We should fly north. We can evac past the mountains," he suggested.

"No," I replied. "We're going back to the village. Time for these bastards to learn who they're fucking with."

"Are you sure? You're hardly at full strength," Albion said.

The broom shot into my outstretched hand.

"I've got this."

* * *

The dining hall window shattered with a thunderous noise as I blasted through, followed by my Aurors. Jumping off my broom, I parried the first curses sent my way, and then, with a twisting motion, sent the first of Golan's men flying.

A wave of inky black surged towards me, cast by three wizards. I let off a stream of curses that punctured the darkness, following up with a broadside of white lightning that tore through the room.

I turned to deflect a torrent of livid Fiendfyre meant for Albion, fighting another two wizards to my left. Overpowering the lethal flame with my own magic, I hurled in back into the faces of those who had cast it. Behind me, Marcus delivered a killing blow to his own opponent.

Still, we were outnumbered five to one. I unleashed a burst of Stunning spells, dropping another three assailants. Another three rushed at me. I parried the first curse, and with a swift jab of my wand, blasted a hole through the wizard's chest, then brought my wand up in a slashing motion, slicing the second from navel to throat. I gave a yell as a curse from the third hit my shoulder. I raised my wand to parry his second shot, then dropped low to sweep his legs out from underneath him. With a deft flick, I launched him into the wall with a sharp _crack _as his head hit unyielding stone.

Beside me, one of the long wooden tables exploded in a storm of splinters. Shards of wood rained through the air, and I expanded a shimmering golden shield to protect myself, noting that both Albion and Marcus had done the same.

"I'm going after Golan, you finish here!"

"Yes sir!" both yelled in unison.

I blasted a pathway through to the stairs as the Aurors lay down suppressing fire. Leaving the hall, I took the stairs three at a time. Recalling Marissa's words, I headed for the top floor.

A man rushed at me as I reached the floor, but dropped to a burst of white lightning.

"Golan!" I yelled.

The door to the first room broke open before my wand, but it was empty, as was the second. Then, I heard a muffled cry, and rushed towards the noise.

A broad man with close-cropped blond hair and a malicious smirk stood on the balcony of the third room. His right hand pointed a wand at me, and in his left, he held Marissa by her apron, teetering over the balcony. She looked at me with terrified eyes, tears streaking down her face.

"Another step and I drop her. Now lower your wand," he said.

"Let her go. She doesn't need to be part of this," I replied, my wand trained at his head.

"Do it!"

I pointed my wand to the floor.

"Now let her go!"

Golan gave me a twisted grin, and then opened his clutched hand. Marisa fell with a scream.

"Oops."

Instinct took over. I blasted past him, and jumped off the balcony, the sheer cliff rushing past me as I dove through the air. I reached out my hand, but I could barely make out her falling form through the flurry of snowfall.

I had to try.

"ARRESTO –"

It was too late. The words died in my mouth as I watched her body slam into the mountainside.

A second later, I swept my wand beneath myself to slow my descent, and landed softly on my feet. The young maid lay contorted on the rocky outcrop, her back broken at a hideous angle. I rushed to her, cradling her with my arms.

"You're going to be okay," I murmured, even as she coughed blood, gasping in short, shallow breaths.

"It's going to be okay," I repeated, knowing that she was not going to see another sunset on this wretched mountain.

Icy wind swept the outcrop. Specks of snow mingled with the blood that had seeped through her clothing.

"I'm sorry. My sister….they…have her. I…couldn't…"

Her eyes fluttered shut. I gritted my teeth and bowed my head.

* * *

"No sign of Golan," Marcus reported. He was sporting a nasty cut on his brow, and Albion was resetting three broken bones in his left hand.

I grimaced, and placed Marissa's body on a patch of ground cleared from debris.

Gost barged towards us, red in the face with an enraged expression.

"Who the fuck do you think –"

His voice trailed off at the sight of me, my robes wet with blood. Albion gave the inn-keep an incredulous look.

"This is the Auror Commander."

Realisation dawned on Gost's features and his face went white.

"Fuck me."

"Don't worry, I'm not going to arrest you for harbouring fugitives. At least not today," I said.

"That's all well and good, but what about me inn?" he replied, gesturing to the ruined room.

"Send the repair bill to London. I'll see that you're reimbursed."

Gost's eyes lit up at the thought of a Ministry cheque.

"But Gost, I'll want receipts."

His face fell into its usual scowl. I turned to Albion.

"We're done here."

* * *

A few hours later, my fellow Aurors and I, garbed in long hoods and greatcloaks, left the inn, making our way across the narrow bridge as the dull rush of the waterfall filled our ears.

I turned back and took one last look at the Mont.

I still had more questions than answers, but that didn't surprise me.

After all, the Mont was not a place for the found.

It was only a place for the weary.

It was only a place for the broken.

It was only a place for the lost.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading. More Harry/Ginny next chapter.


	9. High Society

A/N: Happy New Year! Chapters come quickly when I'm on holiday. As promised, a lot of Harry and Ginny this chapter. I also have another project in the works that I hope to announce soon.

**IX. High Society**

The word 'politics' is derived from the word 'poly', meaning 'many',

and the word 'ticks', meaning 'blood sucking parasites'.

– Larry Hardiman (cit.)

* * *

"The Auror Office can't continue to operate under the belief that it is publicly accountable and transparent to the public if its operational budget remains blacklisted!" Shaw proclaimed.

Harry, draped in his Wizengamot regalia, stood.

"The Wizengamot recognises the Auror Commander," said Magellan, his tone even.

"Warlock Shaw, if you wish to investigate and reduce Auror expenditure, then I'll inform the Diplomatic Protection Division that you no longer require a security detail."

A round of jeers arose from the members of the Chamber.

"That's not…I mean…" Shaw floundered.

"If you want to cut funding to reduce Ministry deficit, don't cut it from the people who risk their own lives to protect yours," Harry said, his voice threatening. "Like much of what we do, the expenses of the Auror Office are classified as a matter of security. However, the members of this Chamber, unlike the public, do have some idea of what my Office spends. You all know that my expenditure pales in comparison to the tax income we lose due to the loopholes exploited by pureblood business owners. Assembled Councillors, if you want to reduce the deficit, coming after my Office is the wrong way to do it."

* * *

"You're doing well."

"Thanks. It's getting easier."

"Good."

Kingsley drained his goblet.

"Have you received your invitation to Friday's ceremony?"

Harry made a face.

"I'd rather not, if that's all the same."

"I need you there. Doesn't look good if the person we're throwing a party for fails to attend."

"I really don't need another medal. The Order of Merlin was bad enough."

"It's the Halloween Honours List. What did you expect? Next time, let someone else save the world."

"I've half a mind to."

Kingsley chuckled.

"How's Ron doing?"

"Good. Siobhan and Tiberius have been impressed with him so far. We're putting the new recruits through an accelerated programme so we can place them in the field in six months."

"You don't think that's too soon?"

"Yes, I do," Harry admitted.

"Then why do it?"

"Because we need soldiers to win this war."

* * *

_Ginny_

"Going to the Ministry thing on Friday?" asked Gracie Lynch, the Seeker for the Holyhead Harpies.

"Yeah, you?"

"Got the invite, but I'm planning on giving it a miss. Seen too many of these bloody things."

I made a face as I laced my boots.

"To be honest, I'm not looking forward to it much myself, but Hermione Granger is going, and wants to catch up."

"Enough small talk, ladies!" Gwenog interrupted, breaking our conversation as she strode into the dressing room.

"I've just finished meeting with Booke," she announced, setting off a murmur of voices around the room.

Every Quidditch player in Britain knew that name. Joseph Booke was the Head Coach of the English National Team, and a legend in his own right. Booke had flown Chaser in five World Cups, winning it all in his fourth. After retiring as a player, he had immediately been offered the coaching position by the Quidditch Association.

"Quiet!" Gwenog exclaimed. "He's coming with the selectors to the Tutshill match next week. I don't need to impress upon you lot the importance of that matchup. We win, we go clear for third on the table, and maybe, just maybe, one or two of you join me in England's squad for the World Cup. Right! On the pitch in five!"

I pulled my gloves on and adjusted my shoulder pads.

"No pressure," I grumbled.

"Ah, don't worry about it," Gracie said, flexing her fingers.

"Easy for you to say, you're a shoo-in for Ireland."

"Oh, you think playing Seeker for the World Champions is easy?" Gracie said, exaggerating the lilt of her voice.

"No pressure," I replied, grinning.

* * *

Hermione walked over to sit next to me at the bar, looking incredible in a light pink dress with a cut out back.

"Have you seen Harry?" she asked.

"He didn't mention he was coming," I replied cooly. "Doesn't he prefer to avoid these things?"

"He doesn't have a choice. He's being presented with an award."

"Another one?"

"Yes, and it doesn't look good for Kingsley if Harry doesn't show."

"Must everything always be so political?"

Hermione shot me a grin.

"Always. Politics is the only thing the Ministry really knows. We see it as a game."

"How do you keep score?" I asked.

"If you're still alive at the end of the day, you've won," she replied.

"How lovely," I said wryly.

"Have you got a drink?"

"Just finished it. Another wouldn't go amiss though."

"Anything to get you through tonight?"

"Something like that."

We ordered, and I'd just taken the first sip of a pumpkin juice cocktail when Ron walked up to the podium and began to speak.

"Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed guests, welcome. Tonight, I have the honour to introduce to you someone who needs no introduction. My best friend and now, my colleague, Harry Potter. Only a few months ago he approached me with an offer involving my joining the Auror Department and my girlfriend, Hermione Granger, moving in with me. Naturally, I couldn't refuse."

Hearty laughter came from the assembled crowd.

"In hindsight, had I known what living with my girlfriend would be like, I would've run as fast as I could in the opposite direction."

I giggled as Hermione scowled in annoyance. Her eyes however, fixed on my brother, told a different story.

"But in all seriousness, Harry has done so much for the wizarding world, and if anyone deserves to receive such a prestigious award, it's him-"

"What are they giving him?" I asked Hermione.

"The Albus Dumbledore Prize for Exemplary Magic. He's the inaugural recipient."

"–so, ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, Harry Potter!"

A polite cheer came up from the crowd as Harry strode onto the stage and shook Ron's hand.

"Thank you everyone. I'd just like to mention that I've heard that Ron is quite the domestic goddess," he said, grinning, before launching into his speech.

"I'm honoured, really, to be receiving such an award. Albus Dumbledore taught me so much, and I'm here today thanks to his sacrifice, and the sacrifice of so many."

His expression grew somber.

"Make no mistake, we are still under threat. The lure of Dark Magic is strong, and some cannot resist its pull. But every day, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, with the Aurors at its forefront, seek to prevent those who would wish to harm us all from doing so. This award has my name on it, but it belongs to all those who fight against evil, no matter how big or small. Thank you."

After Kingsley presented him with a silver medallion, Harry stepped down from the podium to massive applause. I watched as he made his way through the guests, shaking hands, signing napkins, smiling at pretty witches wearing low-cut dresses.

"Ginny?"

I tore my eyes away from Harry and back to Hermione.

"I'm going to go and find Ron, okay?"

"Sure," I replied, and returned to watching Harry as Hermione left.

Eventually, he made it through the crowd towards the bar, and nodded as he saw me.

"Nice speech," I said in greeting, keeping my tone neutral.

"Cheers," he replied, taking a drink from the barmaid.

"And congratulations on the award, too."

"Just medals and scars, huh?" Harry remarked, before taking a sip from his glass.

"You think that's all we see?"

"Yeah," he replied, his eyes scanning over the crowd. He turned to look at me. "Present company excluded, of course."

"I guess so," I said, and downed the remainder of my drink.

"Thirsty?"

"Please, you've had at least as much as I have," I retorted as he reached the bottom of his glass.

"You have no idea. I keep checking my watch every five minutes."

"Your restraint is impressive."

"Too right it is. Do you want another drink?" Harry asked, gesturing towards the bar.

"Sure," I replied, and we moved back to the bar.

I swear I'm becoming an alcoholic.

"How's your hand?" Harry asked.

"Oh, it's fine. It was only a glancing blow."

"Is that why they had to sub you?"

"Bugger off," I retorted. The barmaid came over and took our orders, her eyes roving over Harry as he spoke, before sauntering away.

"She likes you," I observed.

Harry turned his head and fixed me with his piercing stare.

"She only likes my name."

I shrugged.

"If you think so."

Shortly after we'd gotten our drinks, Harry was pulled away to meet some foreign dignitary.

I finished my drink, deciding I'd had enough, and decided to join the dancing that had started up a few minutes prior.

Half an hour later, I was waltzing across the floor with a handsome wizard from the Department of International Magical Cooperation when I felt a tap on my shoulder. To my surprise, it was Harry.

"May I have the next dance?"

The other wizard was clearly intimidated. "You can have this one if you like, Commander."

"Thank you," Harry replied.

"Don't go scaring off my dance partner!" I said, scowling at him.

"_I'm_ your dance partner," Harry smirked, placing an arm around my waist, and resting his hand on the small of my back.

"Just because you're the Auror Commander, it doesn't mean you can go and bully anyone you like," I said, placing my own hand on his shoulder.

"Actually, it does," he replied, as we began to dance. "Although we say 'intimidate' instead of 'bully' - it sounds better."

Harry moved with surprising grace across the dance floor.

"Since when did you learn how to dance properly?" I asked, curious.

"One of the Trainees taught me."

"Voluntarily?"

"I lost a bet."

"Which Trainee?"

"Kara."

"Oh, the hot blonde one," I said flatly.

"She is quite attractive, now that you mention it."

"I take it back. You're a terrible dancer."

He smirked again. It reminded me of a photograph I'd seen of James Potter with Lily.

"You look more and more like your Dad every day, you know that?"

"You think so?"

"Yeah - I mean, you always did before, but now, the resemblance is uncanny."

"Except for the eyes," he said.

"Yeah."

The tempo of the music changed, and Harry suddenly launched into a complicated series of steps, that I had to work to keep up with.

"So what was that you were saying about my dancing?" Harry asked as he spun me around.

"Fine. You're not too bad, Potter," I admitted grudgingly.

We danced for a few more minutes, the tempo gradually slowing as we drew closer.

"What were you doing the other week? The Aurors said you weren't in London."

"Can't say," he replied, and then laughed as I glared at him.

"I'm getting bloody tired of hearing that."

"Get used to it."

"I bet Ron would tell me."

"If he did, I'd haul his arse out the door myself. Secrets matter, Ginny. Lives are always at stake."

"Did you get my note?"

"I did."

"We need to talk."

"We will. Soon. I promise."

I gave him a scowl.

"Harry, this isn't something either of us can ignore."

He sighed.

"I'm sorry. I don't want to think about Wrath of Merlin…not today. I just…I hate this day," Harry said. "I hate it. For everyone else, it's Halloween, but for me…it's not. It can't be. It never will be."

"I know," I said softly.

We continued swaying to the music, but Harry's expression remained somber.

"You know, a couple of years ago I would've called you out for being a moody sot," I remarked lightly.

"I'm not sixteen anymore, Ginny."

Still so serious.

"You know, part of me wishes you were. I knew how to get you to listen then," I said, somewhat wistfully.

"I'm listening now, aren't I?"

I made a dissatisfied noise in my throat.

"If you can call it that."

He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, giving me a half-smile.

"Thank you."

I was interrupted by an aide.

"Commander?"

"Yeah?" Harry asked.

The aide whispered something in his ear, and Harry gave him a nod.

"I've got to check on something."

"Right now?" I asked.

"Constant vigilance," he grinned, and I rolled my eyes. The prat just kept on grinning.

Harry bade me farewell, and left. After he'd gone, I didn't feel like dancing anymore.

"Ginny, there you are!"

It was Hermione again, looking flushed from her own turn on the dance floor with Ron.

"I saw you dancing with Harry," she said speculatively. "Getting pretty cosy with The Chosen One, are we?"

I rolled my eyes. "Nothing is going on between us, Hermione."

Hermione just gave me a mysterious smile.

* * *

I sipped at my water by the bar.

Five minutes ago, Harry had walked back into the room with a somber expression on his features, and I wondered what had needed his attention earlier. He spent a few minutes chatting to a group of well-wishers, shaking each hand, and posing for a group photo with a strained half-smile.

A woman approached him as he moved on from the group. She had fine, somewhat angular features, and she placed her hand on his arm with an easy familiarity. He placed his hand on the small of her back as she moved closer to murmur into his ear.

With a start, I recognised her from school, a Slytherin from Harry's year.

"Since when was Harry on speaking terms with Daphne Greengrass?"

"I don't know," Hermione said offhandedly.

I caught the guarded expression on her face and my eyes narrowed.

"Bollocks, Hermione. You know everything."

She sighed.

"Harry should be the one to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"They're sleeping together."

"They're what?!" I exclaimed.

"Sleeping to –"

"Yes, alright, Hermione, I heard the first time," I said waspishly, "How long?"

"A few weeks, a month," Hermione shrugged, "But this is why I didn't want to tell you."

I apologised as I saw her hurt expression.

"Sorry. It's just…well, it's just a bit unexpected."

"I understand."

There was a heavy pause between us.

"He gave me his memories, Hermione. For better or for worse, he wanted me to see them."

"And?"

"I've accepted it…I think. You know, I didn't necessarily have a problem with the killing. It's funny. Murder is abhorrent, yet, ever since…"

"Ever since your Mum killed Bellatrix?"

"Yeah."

My attention returned to Harry and Daphne, who were making their way towards the bar.

Harry approached a waitress as Daphne greeted us.

"Granger, Weasley."

"Greengrass," Hermione gave her a curt nod.

"Er, how are things going in the Department?" she asked.

"Well. We're about to present a new round of legislation. You?"

"Coordinating with the Auror Office on some casework. But you probably knew that already," Daphne replied.

Harry joined us, looking distinctly uncomfortable, and handed Daphne a drink, before downing what looked like a glass of Firewhiskey.

I scowled at him.

"Harry, can I have a word?"

It wasn't a request.

He gave me a nod, and he accompanied me from the ballroom, leaving Daphne and Hermione to their increasingly awkward smalltalk.

"What is it? If this is about my memories, I already said –"

"No, it's not! It's not always about _you!_ This is about her!" I exclaimed.

"Daphne?"

"I don't know why you're with her," I replied woodenly.

"She's…it's complicated," he replied awkwardly.

"How is it complicated, Harry? You said you wanted to be with me."

"I do, but –"

"_I remember us, Ginny,"_ I said, throwing his words back in his face.

He made a frustrated noise and ran his hand through his hair.

"Ginny, I –"

"You know what, Harry? I don't want to hear it," I made to leave.

"Ginny, wait."

I felt the surge of his magical energy, like constrained lightning on a leash.

"Is that an order, Commander?" I asked bitterly.

"I don't know why this is such a problem for you!"

I looked at him incredulously.

"I mean, it's not like…we're not –"

"That's right. _We're _not anything," I finished for him, before storming away.

* * *

"That looked like it went well," remarked Hermione.

"He's a fucking arse!" I exclaimed, sudden tears springing to my eyes. I hated that I was on the verge of tears. I hated that I had let him hurt me.

All vestiges of sarcasm left Hermione's features, replaced with sudden alarm.

"What happened to you working things out with him?"

I took a deep breath.

"I don't know, Hermione."

"Tell me."

"Can we go?" I asked. "I don't think I can stay here another minute."

"Of course, we'll Floo to mine. And then you can tell me why I need to smack Harry Potter over the head."

* * *

Daphne Greengrass tied her hair in a messy braid, and reached for her cigarettes.

In another place, in another time, things between her and Harry Potter might have been different.

But his mind had been somewhere else.

His heart had been with someone else.

"This is it, isn't it?" Daphne said, lighting her cigarette.

"Yeah," Harry replied quietly.

"You helped."

"So did you."

"It's funny."

"What?"

"If someone had told me that you and I would end up doing this after Hogwarts, I wouldn't have believed them," Daphne said.

A concerned expression crossed Harry's features.

"I'm not running to the bloody _Prophet_ saying that I fucked Harry Potter," she added quickly.

Harry laughed.

"Can you imagine the look on Rita Skeeter's face if she found out."

"I think she'd wet herself," Daphne replied, grinning.

Harry finished buttoning his shirt, then reached out, wandlessly summoning his glasses from the nightstand.

"I want you to be happy, Harry. Weasley's an idiot if she'd rather lose you," Daphne said.

"Do you have someone? I mean, like –"

"No. Not that I really care," she replied, stubbing out her cigarette. The tiny spark died in the ashtray.

She looked up at him, with her crooked little smile, before pressing herself to him in one last kiss.

"Don't be a stranger, Harry."

"I won't."

"Good. You need at least one friend from Slytherin House. Keeps you honest."

He gave her another grin.

"You should quit smoking. Or at least take up a pipe instead." "Who do you think I am, Dumbledore?"

"I bloody well hope not," Harry replied with an expression of mock horror.

"I'll see you."

And then he was gone. 

* * *

A/N: _"I remember us, Ginny"_ comes from the last chapter of _Wrath of Merlin_, in case anyone was wondering. Thanks for reading - and as always, I'd appreciate it if you took the time to review. Your feedback means a lot!


	10. Flight 84

A/N: Well, it's been a while.

About five weeks ago, I had Chapter Ten, some four thousand words, finished and ready to publish. And then I stopped and went right back to the drawing board. I wasn't unhappy with the writing per se (you will see it at a later stage) but I was unhappy with where it sat in the story.

I've said before that I would not compromise on the quality of my writing, or the story as a whole, in the interests of expedience. That isn't about to change. So thank you, to all my reviewers and readers for your patience.

This chapter's shoutout goes to Enchanted49, Dagor16, and Gracefish21, for their kind reviews.

**X. Flight 84**

"Let me win your heart and mind or I'll burn your god damn hut down."

– inscription on a Zippo lighter, circa 1970.

* * *

The voice, in crisp Russian, crackled over the intercom at Vnukovo International Airport.

"_Flight 84 to London. Now boarding."_

Ivan Rusilov, a man of medium height sporting a sharp black beard, joined the growing line of people at the departure gate. He clutched his passport with a certain anticipation.

Flying was something of a novelty for him - at least in this manner - and he had extensively researched the Boeing 737-500 in which he would be travelling. It was 101 feet long, with a wingspan of 94 feet, and could reach speeds of Mach 0.82. Today, 117 of its 122 seats would be filled with passengers. Six crew members would accompany them from Moscow to London.

Rusilov reached the desk, put his bag on a plastic tray, and handed over his boarding pass, before passing through the metal detector.

The customs official waved his bag through, content that Rusilov's possessions did not present any threat to the aircraft.

After all, what harm could a short wooden stick possibly do?

* * *

"Again!"

Harry stood in the centre of the Training Room, instructing the second-year Auror candidates.

"Concentrate on feeding magical energy into your shield. It's strength is your strength."

Harry unleashed a bolt of lightning into one of the shields. It wavered, but remained unbroken.

"It's Lucy, isn't it?"

"Yes Commander. Lucy Kerr," replied the witch.

"Good work."

Harry paced around the room, making adjustments and testing more shields.

"Stand easy."

"You may have been wondering why I started you off with a first-year training exercise like shield-work. It's to serve as a reminder that ultimately, a curse will not protect you against dark magic in the same way a shield can. And when we finish today, you will have a very clear appreciation for the damage that dark magic can do."

Harry murmured under his breath, feeling the rush of magical energy coursing through him. Tendrils of inky blackness coalesced around his wand with sinister intent.

"Dark magic is known as such because it is characterised by what?"

"Malicious energy," volunteered a trainee.

"That's not a bad answer at all. We all know that magic is fuelled by its purpose. The Killing Curse, for example, does not kill if the caster lacks the lethal intent necessary. That intent manifests into the malicious energy required for the spell. But that's only half of it."

The tendrils flared up, surrounding Harry and obscuring his body and face.

"Dark magic is also about control. If you cannot control the energy you feed into the curse, how can you hope to control a curse that, trust me, would easily turn on you?"

Suddenly, a burst of bright white flame erupted from the wand, burning the darkness away, leaving only a thin veneer of smoke in the air.

"Control was the most important thing I learned in the Department of Mysteries."

He paused, and for a moment, Harry was far from the Training Room.

"Line up."

The Trainees rushed into formation.

"I am going to attack each of you with dark magic, and you will each attempt to defend yourselves."

"Let's begin."

* * *

"Here's the latest field report. Just came in," said Kara.

"Cheers."

Harry took the proffered piece of parchment from her and began to skim through it.

"Anything from the Goblin Liaison Office?"

"Nothing yet," she replied. "Coffee or tea?"

"Coffee, please."

"Have you talked to Ginny?" Kara asked as she busied herself with conjuring a couple of drinks.

"Not since Halloween," Harry answered absently.

"You really should. It's been what, six weeks?"

Harry shot her a suspicious look.

"You've been talking with Hermione."

"Who else is going to listen to me complain about you?"

"You should pursue a career in comedy. You're wasted as an Auror," he replied dryly.

"Sure, but then you wouldn't function," she said, handing him a mug.

Harry gave a rue smile.

"Anyway, I doubt Ginny wants to talk to me. Seen the society pages in the _Prophet _lately?"

"Oh, she's been seeing that bloke on the Kestrels. He's fit."

"Why do I even employ you?" he scowled.

"You don't. The Department does."

"I should really talk to them about that."

"Whatever you say, sir."

* * *

"Sir, you will need to take your seat. We should arrive in London shortly."

Rusilov drew his wand from his bag.

It was too easy. The stewardess's mind offered no resistance to his Imperius curse.

_Take me to the flight deck._

"Follow me please, sir."

* * *

_Flash. Flash flash._

"The Ministry, as you all know, has significant capital tied into a fund managed by Tribe Ragnuk. We're pleased to announce a notable return after the first one hundred days of this joint investment."

"Are you concerned at the amount of capital we have invested in this deal?" a reporter asked.

"Not as long as it continues to generate the rate of return that we're experiencing. Just yesterday, the Wizengamot voted on new civil infrastructure a year ahead of schedule, because of the investments we're making," Kingsley replied.

"You don't think that's premature?"

"The time to invest in this nation is now. We're on the road to recovery. By rebuilding our economic strength, we place ourselves in the position to pay off our loans to the European Council and the Goblin Monetary Fund ahead of time."

"There's been talk that not all in Tribe Ragnuk are happy with the joint partnership," queried another reporter.

"Magical cooperation creates the development we need to rebuild our nation, and brings men and goblins closer together. We're fortunate in experiencing an unprecedented period of peace with goblin-kind."

_Flash. Flash._

"That's not answering my question."

"Then I'll refer you to the Goblin Liaison Office," said Kingsley.

"What happens if the fund declines?"

"I don't foresee that happening. The money is in good hands," Kingsley replied.

_Flash, flash._

An aide came up to the podium and murmured into his ear. Kingsley gave a quick nod.

_Flash._

"Thank you, that's all for now."

* * *

A sharp knock came on the door.

"Come in!"

Harry recognised an Undersecretary from Kingsley's office.

"Commander, I have grave news."

"Yes?"

"A plane has been hijacked over London airspace."

"How long ago?"

"Unsure. We intercepted it from Downing Street. Kingsley is speaking to the PM now."

"Can't the Muggles handle this?"

"Not when the hijacker is a wizard."

"Fuck."

Harry grabbed his wand and holstered it.

"Kara!"

A moment later, the blonde witch appeared.

"Yeah?"

"Sound general quarters. Get Siobhan and Albion to meet me at Level One."

"Yes sir."

* * *

"The Minister is due back shortly."

Harry, along with the other members of the National Security Council had convened in Kingsley's office. A couple of wizards were setting up a large radio with a cluster of cables running from it.

Suddenly, Kingsley strode out of the fireplace, dusting soot off his robes.

"What do we know?"

"Flight 84 out of Moscow was beginning its descent towards Gatwick when it made a sudden ascent. It's now circling the city at cruising altitude - some 35,000 feet. The Muggles have cleared and diverted other aircraft," reported an MLE official, a witch Harry recognised as a Senior Secretary for the Head of Department.

"How much fuel does the plane have?" Harry asked.

"About forty minutes worth."

"That's not nearly long enough," Harry remarked.

"Muggle aviation reached the plane after it began circling. The hijacker identified himself as Ivan Rusilov, and said he didn't want to speak to them."

"At which point I assume we were called."

"He's known to the Federation. Russian Intelligence has been very forthcoming in providing us with information."

"Our highest priority is the Statute of Secrecy. When this gets out, we'll have blanket news coverage from across the globe," Kingsley remarked.

He turned to the wizards running cable from the two-way wireless.

"How far away are we from reaching Rusilov?"

"When you're ready, Minister."

One of the wizards tapped the wireless with his wand, and a buzzing sound filled the room.

"This is the Ministry for Magic, contacting Flight 84. Contacting Flight 84."

There was a heavy pause, punctuated by brief static. Then:

"_I'm listening."_

"Is this Ivan Rusilov?" Kingsley asked.

"_It is."_

"Mr Rusilov–"

"_Firstly, I want to make it very clear to the Aurors that there is an elegant little bomb onboard this aircraft. Any attempt to retake the plane will result in disaster."_

"Mr. Rusilov, I assure you that we are willing to negotiate terms. We will do what we can if you are willing to make your demands known."

"_My demands are very simple. I want to see the Auror Commander."_

Every eye in the room turned to Harry.

With cold anger settling on his features, Harry took the microphone and spoke.

"Ivan Rusilov, this is the Auror Commander. I'll see you shortly."

"_Good."_

The wireless cut to static.

Unspoken words passed between Kingsley and Harry, and then the Auror Commander spoke.

"I need a tactical suit. We're going to Gatwick."

* * *

To the Muggle eye, Gatwick International Airport, in West Sussex, has two terminals: North and South. But to the people of the Wizarding World, there is a third terminal, deep underground: Gatwick Number Three.

Startled passengers gawked as Harry, accompanied by a score of MLE members, emerged from the series of Floo-connected fireplaces in the main lobby.

"_Please clear the lobby. All non-authorised personnel and passengers are to clear from the lobby. Thank you for your cooperation."_

"The Russians just went to the media," said Kara. "Kingsley's giving them an earful about it now."

"We've got to get ahead of the _WWN_ and the _Prophet,_" Harry replied.

"The Minister's Office is drafting a statement now."

"The Muggles have scrambled four Harrier jets," reported Albion.

Harry spread his arms apart as the other Aurors magically sealed him into a black dragon-hide combat suit.

"Tell Downing Street to clear them out. They'll just get in my way."

"Of course."

Siobhan fitted Harry with an earpiece. "Test it."

Harry keyed the earpiece, and was greeted with a signal tone.

"It's working."

"Good. Firebolt or Nimbus?"

"Nimbus."

Albion handed him a black broom with the lettering _NIMBUS 2400 _inscribed on the handle.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

* * *

Hunching over the broom, Harry pushed the Nimbus into a steep climb. The plane was at cruising altitude, some 35,000 feet. The broom wouldn't be able to climb much further than 30,000.

Breaking through the clouds, the plane came into sight.

"Plane sighted. Preparing to board."

"_When ready."_

Harry stood on the stirrups with an intent focus crossing his features. His eyes locked onto the plane.

_Crack._

_Crack._

With a flash, Harry Apparated _into_ the plane.

"On board."

He'd landed in the single aisle around the middle of the aircraft, by the emergency exit doors over the wings. To his left and right, the passengers were rigid in their seats, able to move nothing but their eyes.

A bearded man appeared in the aisle at the front of the aircraft. Harry whirled around, his wand aimed directly at the man's face.

Rusilov raised his hands in a placating gesture.

"Remember, there is a bomb on board this aircraft, Commander. If you kill me now, it will detonate automatically. So as easy as it would be to put a Killing Curse between my eyes, I wouldn't recommend it."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Nazar has requested it," replied Rusilov simply. "He wants you to know what we're capable of doing. He wants you to know, Commander, that he is coming. Consider this a test."

Rusilov did not flinch before the barely restrained fury in Harry's eyes.

"You have a minute, perhaps, left of fuel, before the engines stall. The bomb will detonate once the plane drops below a thousand feet. One way or another, Commander, Flight 84 is doomed."

The man offered Harry a pitiless smirk.

"Good luck."

Rusilov disappeared with a _crack_.

Moments later, so did the wings.

And with the hideous screech of tearing steel ringing in his ears, Harry felt the plane drop out of the sky.

* * *

"…_just joining us, we're live with breaking news. A wizard has allegedly hijacked a Muggle passenger aeroplane over London. The flight, scheduled to land at Gatwick Airport, has been circling the city for the last 30 minutes whilst the wizard, who identified as Ivan Rusilov, made his demands known."_

"_It is our understanding that Magical Law Enforcement is working with Muggle authorities to preserve the Statute of Secrecy and land the plane safely."_

"_It's been determined that Rusilov, the alleged hijacker, is a Russian national. The Magical Federation has been quick to denounce his actions. Rusilov is a wanted fugitive from justice in his home country, where he was implicated in a plot that resulted in the deaths of two prominent magical families in St. Petersburg in 1993. He also has ties to several known Death Eaters, and notably, the Dolohov criminal empire._

"_And now, we're just learning that moments ago, a contingent of Aurors led by Harry Potter have closed down Gatwick Terminal for what looks like a combat operation. Stay tuned for more updates as this story develops live, only on WWN!"_

* * *

The plane lurched towards the earth. Planting both feet in the aisle, Harry swished his wand through the air, punctuating the movement with a sharp flick.

"_Wingardium Leviosa. Wingardium Leviosa. Wingardium Leviosa. Wingardium Leviosa." _

Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and massive, invisible pressure was building across his shoulders as he repeated the mantra under his breath.

The plane continued to fall. Harry gave a yell of frustration, expending magical energy into keeping the plane aloft.

"FUCK YOU!"

For a moment, the plane jolted to a halt, as if caught on invisible thread. The cylinder groaned as the metal strained against the laws of nature. Inside, Harry's arms shook with the superhuman effort. Magical energy was coalescing around his body, reverberating across his back and through his limbs. Black spots appeared before his eyes.

In moments, he would pass out.

"Fuck!"

Harry grabbed the arm of the nearest passenger, twisted his heel, and Disapparated with a _crack._

The plane jolted again, continuing its fall.

30,000 feet….

A fraction of a second later, Harry appeared on the ground with the passenger in tow. The passenger promptly collapsed to her knees, vomiting profusely, as Harry disappeared with another _crack_.

Another fraction of a second passed, and Harry reappeared in the 737.

_Crack._

Two more.

_Crack. Crack._

Another. The Body-Bind Curse had worn off, and inside the plane, all hell had broken loose.

_Crack. Crack._

Overcoming their initial shock, the passengers were tearing at Harry, grabbing his arms, his legs, his face, begging him to take them.

_Crack. Crack._

25,000…

Harry landed, his legs buckling under the weight of Apparating four people, and he stumbled, hesitating for a moment. A wave of exhaustion hit him at pace.

_Crack. Crack._

Another two.

_Crack. Crack._

Obliviators had appeared in the street where Harry was depositing people seemingly out of thin air.

_Crack. Crack._

Three people this time.

_Crack. Crack._

20,000…

Harry twisted on his heel yet again, as MLE officials began to arrive.

_Crack. Crack._

Baggage and debris was flying through the air as the fuselage continued its lethal descent. Harry was slammed against the ceiling of the plane, and only managed to latch onto a child's fingertips before disappearing once again.

_Crack. Crack._

15,000…

_Crack. Crack._

There was no time.

_Crack. Crack._

10,000…

_Crack. Crack._

There was no way.

_Crack. Crack._

5,000…

_Crack. Crack._

4,000…

_Crack. Crack._

3,000…

_Crack. Crack._

2,000…

For the smallest of moments, time stood still.

Harry met the terrified gazes of passengers strapped into their seats, clinging to each other as they fell to their doom.

Time was up.

1,500…

_Crack._

Harry reappeared in midair before the nose of the plane, pushing himself into a freefall.

Tumbling through the air, with the ground rushing towards him, Harry did the only thing he could do.

A bolt of livid magical energy burst from his wand and tore through the fuselage of the 737, from nose to tail.

And then, with a brilliant blinding flash, the plane disintegrated into nothing.

* * *

"Welcome back, Commander."

Harry opened his eyes, recognising the voice of the Healer, Kai Booke, who swam into vision as Harry's eyes focused.

"The shockwave that resulted from the destruction of the aircraft knocked you unconscious, Commander. Fortunately, your trajectory was well on target. I understand that about twenty different people intercepted you with a levitation charm."

Harry sat up with a groan.

"Please, try to avoid moving for at least a little while."

"I need to get –"

"Stop!" admonished the Healer. "Honest to Merlin, what the fuck were you thinking? Over fifty near-simultaneous Apparitions in and out of a plane falling from some 30,000 feet! It's a fucking wonder you didn't Splinch yourself six ways to Sunday!"

Harry heard the sound of opening doors as a new group of voices entered the wing.

"Is he up?" asked a deep voice, unmistakably Kingsley's.

"Oh, he's awake," Booke said darkly.

"Thank Merlin!"

Booke scowled.

"Potter here feels the need to have us rewrite the book on what we consider medically plausible!"

"Thank you Kai," said Kingsley.

"Try to stay out of trouble, Commander," said Booke, his tone thin.

Harry winced as he shifted.

"I won't make any promises," he added wryly.

Harry could have sworn the Healer mutter the words 'worse than a bloody Hitwizard' as he stalked away.

"Are you alright to debrief?" asked Kingsley, taking a seat by the bed. Several other high-ranking wizards and witches clustered about them.

"Sure."

"What did Rusilov want?"

"He said it was a test. Rusilov said that Nazar wanted to test me," said Harry.

"We've mobilised every available officer, and the borders are under heavy guard. If he tries to get out of the country, we'll find him," assured a wizard Harry recognised from the National Security Council.

"I tried to explain to the Muggle Prime Minister how you managed to get them out of the airplane," said Kingsley. "He started trembling, at which point I stopped talking and poured him his third glass of scotch."

"How many made it?" asked Harry quietly.

"Twenty-seven. You saved twenty-seven people."

"There were over one hundred on that plane."

"Had the plane hit the ground, the collateral damage would have been enormous."

"I couldn't keep it in the air."

"They tell me the plane weighed fifty tonnes. It would take a hundred wizards to keep that in the air, let alone one. I'm astounded you even tried.

"What about eyewitnesses?"

"We were able to disillusion the plane and the surrounding airspace. Obliviators picked up any slack. It's a miracle the Statute of Secrecy wasn't compromised."

"A miracle," echoed Harry woodenly. "I don't know about you, Kingsley, but I don't consider this a win."

* * *

…_if you're just tuning in now, a major crisis was averted today following the hijacking of a Muggle airliner by Russian wizard Ivan Rusilov."_

"_The details remain classified, but the WWN understands that the Aurors executed an operation aboard the plane, avoiding what could have been a catastrophic disaster had the plane crashed into a highly populated urban area."_

"_Meanwhile, hijacker Ivan Rusilov remains at large, and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is offering–"_

A sharp knock came from the door and Ginny cut the wireless off with a wave of her hand.

"Yeah?"

The Harpies housekeeper stood at the doorway with a wide-eyed look on her face.

"I'm very sorry, Miss Weasley, but I couldn't exactly say no."

An Auror strode into her lounge, performing a series of complicated diagrams in the air with his wand. Satisfied, he gave a shout:

"Clear!"

A moment later, Kingsley Shacklebolt, accompanied by two more Aurors, walked into the room.

"Good evening, Ginny. We need to speak. You might want to take a seat."

* * *

A/N: Hoped you liked it! Please remember to let me know what you think.


	11. Rubicon Crossing

A/N: And we're back! It's definitely been a longer wait than I'd like - and this chapter is shorter than I'd like - so you have my appreciation for your endless patience. I'm keenly aware that it's been a while.

I'd like to take the opportunity to share with you my plans for two future stories, which I intend to update concurrently after I finish _Auror Commander_. The first, which is yet to be titled, is a sequel of sorts to _Auror Commander_, but focuses chiefly on Teddy and Victoire - whom I enjoy writing very much. I can promise you that Harry will appear regularly to kick arse and take names. The second story, tentatively titled _Phoenix Rising_, focuses on James and Lily in their final years at Hogwarts and their involvement with the Order.

As always, I appreciate reading and enjoy your thoughts on the story and characters - so please let me know what you think!

**XI. Rubicon Crossing**

"Alea iacta est."

– Julius Caesar

* * *

_Ginny_

"What I am about to tell you cannot leave this room. You understand?"

Kingsley's expression left no room for argument.

I nodded.

"Good."

"Harry was responsible for bringing down Flight 84."

This didn't surprise me - it was what Kingsley said next:

"He Apparated in and out of the plane as it fell, evacuating passengers. Twenty-seven in all."

My mouth dropped open in disbelief.

"How is that even _possible_?"

"You're telling me. It's a miracle the effort didn't kill him," said Kingsley.

The Minister for Magic ran a hand over his scalp and continued.

"But he couldn't save them all. Harry had no choice but to destroy the plane before it hit the ground and led to greater casualties."

I gasped.

"It was a test, Ginny. The people who did this wanted to test Harry's resolve."

"You mean Rusilov? The one they're talking about on the wireless?"

"Ivan Rusilov was the hijacker, yes. But he was working for another man." "Who?"

"We know him only as Nazar."

The very name sent a chill through the air.

"There is a war coming, Ginny. And Harry can't fight it alone."

* * *

Kara slapped the glossy paper down on Harry's desk looking all the world like the cat that got the cream.

"Look who made Witch Weekly's Most Eligible?"

A picture of Harry was plastered across a double-page spread in the magazine.

"They're taking the piss."

"_Powerful, heroic, extremely wealthy - and who doesn't like a man in uniform? It's no wonder our readers overwhelmingly voted the young Auror Commander as Wizarding Britain's Most Eligible Bachelor_," Kara recited gleefully.

Harry shot her a disgusted look.

"You're fired."

A secretary poked his head through the door carrying a thick ream of parchment.

"Commander, I've got a stack of new reports from the Squadron Office."

Harry looked back to the blonde witch.

"You're hired."

"I want a raise."

Harry shot her a flat look in reply.

* * *

_Ginny_

My expression carefully neutral, I appraised the woman sitting across the table. I met grey eyes set in a high, haughty gaze, and got the distinct impression that she'd been practicing that look half her life.

"What's this about, Greengrass?"

"I prefer Daphne. I'm not all that fond of my last name."

I shrugged.

"Okay. Daphne. Why did you want to meet me?"

"You and Harry."

"Did he put you up to this?"

"No, and I imagine he'd be right royally pissed if he knew I was talking to you."

"So talk."

"Harry never felt anything for me when we were together. Compassion perhaps. But not love."

"If he wanted to be with me, sleeping with you was a funny way of showing it."

"We shared a bed. Not his heart," she replied evenly.

"This is fucking weird."

She made a wry expression.

"Agreed."

Daphne stirred her tea with a certain mechanical grace, and I wondered if she had any mannerisms that hadn't been drilled into her. I was keenly aware of the stark contrast between Daphne Greengrass and the girl who stuck her elbow in a butter dish.

"What aren't you telling me?" I asked.

A moment of surprise flashed across her features, before her expression settled into an appraising look.

"Have you seen Harry's memories?"

"Yes."

"Then you know what Wrath of Merlin did to him."

"I do."

"I was assigned to investigate the Fenrir Greyback incident. Part of that involved interviewing Harry. That was when I saw his memories."

"He won't admit it, Ginny, but he's not right. Wrath of Merlin haunts him. Few could survive what he went through, let alone be okay after it."

"I'm not a Healer."

"For him, I think you might have to be," she replied, pausing in her stirring to raise the cup to her lips and take a small sip.

"How is that a healthy relationship?"

"We're all dependent on those we care for," Daphne said sagely, "in our own way."

The cup was placed on the saucer and the stirring continued.

"How can I forgive him?"

"Harry jumped off the pedestal you put him on a long time ago, Ginny," Daphne said. "He's imperfect. He's made mistakes. It's easy to forget, I guess. But even our heroes are just human."

She shrugged…elegantly.

"What you do is up to you. But I hope that for your sake - and his - you both make things right."

* * *

_Ginny_

Harry's blonde assistant greeted me with a nod of acknowledgement.

"The Minister told me that you might come by."

The Auror Office was mostly empty, save for a couple of Aurors at their cubicles and the assistant, who was notating a stack of parchment with red ink.

"Is he here?" "Just in his office. It's this way."

She rose and directed me to a large wooden door on the landing.

"Miss Weasley…" she began, before pausing. It seemed like she wanted to say more, but instead just added, "Er, good luck."

My eyes ran over the gilded lettering on the door.

HARRY J. POTTER

AUROR COMMANDER

Simple. Yet imposing.

I was being stupid.

It was just a door.

At least that's what I kept telling myself.

I raised my hand and gave a tentative knock.

"Come in!"

The door opened in front of me.

The office was spacious and inviting, with rich, warm colours and stacked shelves of books lining the walls. But it was the glinting, somewhat sinister sword hanging on the wall that my eyes were first drawn to.

The genuine Excalibur. Merlin's own hands had borne that blade.

There was a particular majesty about the sword, a simple yet deadly weapon. It was a stark contrast to the other weapon in the room - one much more deadly, and much more complex.

Harry, seated on a couch instead of behind his desk, showed a faint hint of surprise as I met his gaze.

"Why are you here?"

"I wanted to make sure you were okay," I said.

He reacted with a small frown.

"Kingsley told me what happened. How you saved all those people."

I took a seat on the couch, facing him.

"I didn't save them all. I…I couldn't save them all," he said, and I realised with a shocked that his voice was close to breaking.

Suddenly, our row at Halloween seemed like a distant memory.

"Twenty-seven people owe you their lives."

"There were more. So many more."

"No one could have done what you did. You did something that many would consider impossible, let alone even try."

"For all my power, for all my strength, my training…I was too weak. I couldn't do it."

He paused, and then, spoke again, in little more than a whisper.

"I failed them, Ginny."

"It takes a very rare courage to do what you did. You didn't fail them, Harry. You gave them a better chance than anyone else could have."

He ran a hand through his hair and I realised just how exhausted he was.

"Are you sleeping?"

"Not enough," he admitted, before adding with a hint of a grin, "Thanks Mum."

I felt a sudden relief at his show of brevity.

I stood, keenly aware that his eyes had not left me, and took a second look around the room.

"This is some office you've got."

I picked up the picture sitting on his desk. In it, Harry sat between two men, flanked by Kingsley and my father.

"Is this–?"

"Yeah. Wrath of Merlin, in the flesh."

"The _Prophet_ would pay a small fortune for this photo."

"I don't need a small fortune."

I recalled past visits to Gringotts and silently agreed.

"The two sitting beside you, they're–"

"X and Y," Harry finished, his expression unreadable.

"What were they like?"

"They were…" he paused, considering the question. "It's hard to say. Both were unrelenting against the Death Eaters. They used powerful, terrible, magic. And they taught me to do the same. They made me into a weapon."

"But Y always had time for a joke, and X…he was more serious, but an excellent teacher."

"Don't you know their real names?"

"No. Only their call signs. Honestly, Ginny, I didn't know them that well. They were Unspeakables. They rarely talked about themselves or their past. Y told me he smuggled Muggleborns and other Undesirables out of England during the war, and I know X protected the Secrets from Thicknesse's regime, but that's about it."

"What are the Secrets?" I asked, curious.

"I can't say."

"Come on, I've been to the Department of Mysteries," I reminded him.

"Trust me, I really can't say. And believe me, we barely scratched the surface. I spent a year there and only one in every ten doors would open for me."

"Like name like nature, yeah?"

"Yeah. Just like that."

He fell silent, as if he was recalling a solemn memory.

"They were remarkable men in an remarkable time," he said, breaking his silence.

"And now they're just two silver stars on a wall."

The crease between his eyes remained frozen on his features.

"What's wrong?"

"Why now?" he asked suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

"What changed? After Halloween, after our fight…"

"For so long, I had this idea of you as some kind of heroic, I don't know, knight in shining armour or something–"

"I don't know if I'm a hero, Ginny. Or hell, if heroes even really exist," Harry interjected. "I'm just a person willing to do bad things for good reasons."

"That's what I'm trying to say…I think I get that now," I replied.

He stood and closed the distance between us, meeting my gaze with his own, vivid emeralds that told a world of immense sacrifice, of relentless struggle, and the incredible battle that had raged both inside and around him his entire life.

The mask was still there.

But for the first time in a long time, so was he.

"I'm sorry about Daphne," he said suddenly. "I'm sorry…about everything."

"It's okay," I replied. "It's okay now."

And for the first time in a long time, it really was.

"We'll talk. Soon."

I didn't elaborate. At that moment, I didn't need to.

He nodded.

"Goodnight, Harry."

* * *

A knock came on the door, and a secretary entered.

"Commander?"

"Yeah?"

"It's time."

"Tell Albion I'll be there in a moment."

"Yes sir."

With a redhead woman still at the forefront of his mind, Harry stood, quickly changing into combat fatigues, and made his way to a briefing room deep inside the MLE.

Albion nodded in greeting at his arrival.

"Has Healer Booke cleared you for field work?"

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," Harry replied.

The Auror Commander reached out his hand and a broomstick leapt into his grasp. His face settled into a mask of grim resolve.

"Let's do this."

—

It is 4am in the morning, and I am up at this hour, this horrid, ungodly hour, where no sane person should be awake, unless they have a job that requires visiting crime scenes, no matter what time of day - or in this case, night - they occur.

I'm understandably bitter about the whole thing, especially considering I've left the warmth and comfort of my bed for this cold winter chill.

I survey my surroundings. Part of the large house has been gutted by fire, and clear signs of spell damage are evident. A field tent has been set up on the outskirts of the scene, and I head towards it.

The Aurors don't have a dedicated forensics group - they do much of it themselves - but in this case, they've requested a specialist.

"Banks, is it?"

"Yes."

"Good. I'm Stark. Follow me."

"What's all this about, anyway?"

Stark scowls at my question, but answers anyway.

"Who else? Nazar."

I know that name. Everyone in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement now knows that name. It's only been seventy-two hours since one of Nazar's men hijacked a Muggle airplane. And now the MLE is in the midst of the biggest manhunt undertaken since Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban.

There is a war coming.

I follow the Auror to a Pensive. A small table stands next to it with a collection of glass vials. I notice each contains a fresh strand of memory.

"Here are the memories from the assault team. Familiarise yourself with what happened, and then you can comb the scene."

"Are you preserving it now?" I ask.

"We are."

"Check for contamination. Many of these old houses had undetectable magic that would tamper with crimes - removing fingerprints, items that could be used for evidence - that sort of thing," I advise.

He appraises me for a brief moment - as if he is deciding whether or not I know what I'm talking about - and then nods.

"We'll watch for it."

I pick up a vial, and nearly drop it.

Printed on the vial's label are three words, identifying the owner of the memory:

_Harry Potter AC_

These are no ordinary memories. I am about to witness the Auror Commander himself in action. The very man they refer to as a living weapon. _The Daily Prophet_ would make me a rich man for even a snippet of this memory. Stark clears his throat.

"I don't have to impress upon you the classified nature of what you are about to witness. If you do decide, for whatever deluded reason, to share what you see here today, don't bother running. We will find you. _He _will find you."

I give the gruff Auror a nod, and uncork the vial, letting the memory flow into the swirling matter of the Pensive.

I exhale, and dive in.

"Three. Two. One."

Harry Potter sits astride a broom, accompanied by nine other Aurors. I look down, and immediately wish I hadn't. We are at least thousand feet up in the air.

The Muggles have something similar to this called a HALO jump: high altitude, low opening. Thing is, they do it with parachutes. Aurors don't.

"Engage."

Harry leaps off his broom, wand clasped firmly in hand, with two backups stashed in holsters strapped to his chest and leg.

He plummets towards the earth, robes billowing out behind him.

It takes only seconds for him to reach terminal velocity.

His plummet towards the earth comes with a stony expression. If he is scared to fall through the sky, it doesn't show.

"Arresto Momentum!"

The deceleration is sudden, and the group jolts to a halt three feet above the roof.

Harry motions with his hand, and casts a non-verbal spell.

The roof disintegrates, and all hell breaks loose. But I cannot tear my sight away from the Auror Commander.

He is truly awe-inspiring.

He duels with fluid, deadly purpose. His piercing gaze never leaves his face as he methodically takes down one, two, then a third assailant.

One hand maintains a shield as the other wields his wand, casting bolts of brutal light that blast figures off their feet.

Behind him, his assault team cleans up the mess as their Commander tears through robed figures.

A bolt of green light forces Harry to leap behind cover, but the reprieve in the firefight is brief; with a quick wand movement he slits the throat of the witch who attempted the Killing Curse.

The leader summons a torrent of flame, and with a shout, he engulfs Harry in fire. For a moment, fire is all I can see. But then, Harry calmly walks out of the flames, his body covered in an inky blackness like a shroud. His lips move quickly, and he dispels the chill blackness.

His opponent hesitates, not believing that Harry has done the seemingly impossible. Harry thrusts his wand forwards, and a jet of white fire explodes from the end. The raging white flame engulfs the Death Eater, and this battle is done.

Moments later, Harry swings his wand through the air, dismissing the flames. He makes it look _easy_.

I ignore the other vials. I have seen what I need to see.

Harry Potter is a topic of frequent conversation in the halls of the MLE. The Aurors talk of him in reverent tones. The young man who is their teacher, their comrade, their Commander.

Now I understand why.

Now I know for certain.

The weapon is real.

* * *

A/N: Next chapter is already halfway there, so it hopefully shouldn't be too much of a wait. Until then, adieu.


	12. Noël

A/N: Chapter Twelve is here! Give it a read, and let me know what you think. Big thanks to those who reviewed last chapter and a welcome to new readers!

**XII. Noël**

"Doubt thou the stars are fire;  
Doubt that the sun doth move;  
Doubt truth to be a liar;  
But never doubt I love."

– William Shakespeare

* * *

"_Holyhead continue their climb up the ladder, with this win guaranteeing that they'll go into the mid-season break in third place. It's a Happy Christmas for Harpies fans, knowing that their team is in prime position to contend for the League Cup when we return in February."_

"_This result can't come at a better time for key Harpies players looking for the national call-up."_

"_Absolutely. The speculation surrounding Ginny Weasley in particular continues to grow. Do the selectors gamble on a player in her rookie season?"_

"_Well, I'm a Weasley fan. She's efficient, fast, and gives the Harpies the offensive edge their system needs. My favourite statistic - and this is for all you doubters: the Harpies haven't lost a single game in which Ginny has scored at least 100 points."_

"_That's all well and good, but we all know that it's only a matter of time before defences wise up to her playmaking. And remember that she struggled out of Hogwarts. It'll take her time to adjust to the international arena, and that's no way to mount a World Cup campaign, let alone a successful one."_

"_Youth goes a long way in professional Quidditch. Krum was just eighteen when he led Bulgaria to the Final. It's hard to–" _

Harry dismissed the wireless as Kara entered his office.

"Any news?"

"Nothing. Looks like it'll be a quiet Christmas."

The young Commander nodded.

"Here's hoping. If our intelligence gets the slightest hint–"

"I'll let you know immediately."

"Good. Did maintenance say anything about when we'll have the left wing done?"

"By New Years supposedly. Pain in the arse doing this over Christmas," she replied.

"I gave them an earful about it the other day. Ah well," Harry said, shrugging his greatcloak over his shoulders, "It has to be done."

"You're off?"

"Yeah. No point staying if it's quiet."

"Happy Christmas boss."

He paused at the door and shot her a grin.

"You too."

* * *

Kara made her way to Siobhan's desk, where the Senior Auror sat rifling through a stack of parchment. Every so often, she would key her earpiece, and scribble down notes with a well-worn quill.

Kara took a seat and handed her a Butterbeer.

"Cheers," Siobhan took the proffered drink and cracked it open.

"AC's clocked out."

Siobhan nodded in acknowledgement.

"How'd you score the long watch on Christmas Eve?" Kara asked.

"Owed Albion a favour. You?"

"Didn't have anything better to do," replied the blonde witch with a shrug.

The two Aurors toasted with a _clink._

"Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas."

* * *

_Ginny_

I pulled my cloak tight around myself as I made my way down a long, winding driveway. The winter chill was vicious, and even the dense array of trees that framed the driveway did little to stop the wind. I rounded a corner and a large house came into view. My mouth dropped open. There was no other word for it. Potter Manor was incredible.

The recent snow had lightly dusted the rooftops, making it look painstakingly picturesque - like something straight out of a painting.

A Range Rover with Ministry plates was parked alongside Sirius' old motorcycle at the front entrance. Nervously, I pulled on a small golden chain by the door. A pealing bell rang out from somewhere inside. A few moments later, Harry opened the door, and blinked, taken aback by my presence.

"Hey," I greeted.

"Er, hi," he replied awkwardly.

"Can I come in?" I asked with a pointed look.

"Yeah, sorry, welcome," he said, shaking off his initial surprise.

If the outside was incredible, then the interior certainly matched it.

Pearly marble, polished to perfection, shimmered on the walls and floors. A golden chandelier hung high above the foyer.

"You don't think this place is a bit of a target?"

"I'm here," he said simply. I found his simple confidence slightly unnerving. For months I had been used to looking over my shoulder. He must have sensed my discomfort, because he added:

"It's also Unplottable. Only way to Floo in is with access to the Restricted Network. And it's classified to the Owl Post."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Paranoid?"

"Not for myself, no," he said, hands casually shoved in his pockets. "But the Ministry insisted."

"Come to think of it, how _did_ you get here?" he asked, a small frown creasing his forehead.

"Hermione," I explained with a slight grin.

"Um, would you like a tour?" he said eventually.

"Yeah!" I said, a little too quickly.

Harry led the way up a wide staircase.

"The guest rooms are down that hallway," he said, gesturing, as we reached the landing. "And the ballroom is through here."

"There's a ballroom? You're kidding, right?"

"No, look."

With a flick of his hand, the double doors swung open, and I looked into a massive open space with a polished floor.

The ballroom looked like something out of one of the Disney films Hermione had shown to Ron and I. It was flanked by great windows that let the dusk light stream into the space, and a grand piano sat upon a dais at one end of the room. Three giant chandeliers hung from the ceiling.

"My grandparents hosted renowned parties and fundraisers in here. The rich, famous and powerful all rubbed elbows in this ballroom."

"You'll fit right in, seeing as you're all three."

He gave a small smirk.

"Who cleaned it all?"

"There's a group of House Elves at the Ministry that are responsible for the homes of senior Ministry officials. I didn't want them to come, but they looked at it as a kind of personal challenge. I guess they don't see two decades of dust that often."

"Where's your room?" I asked.

"On the top floor."

He led me upstairs again, past what looked like the master bedroom, and then to a small door, which he opened with a wave of his hand.

"This one is mine - I just took one of the spare rooms."

I followed him in. It was a large room, but to call the furnishing 'spartan' was putting it lightly.

A simple mattress with a duvet lay on a bare wooden floor, next to a worn and tattered trunk. The room was magically illuminated, but still dim. Curtains were drawn tightly over the windows.

"Oh, Harry," I said with a sinking feeling. He didn't even have a proper bed.

The entire left wall was covered in parchment - newspaper clippings, diagrams, notes, memos, pictures - and a map of Britain and Western Europe, with several black and red pins stuck into it.

"Auror stuff?"

He nodded.

I turned and noticed several photos tacked on the opposite wall by his mattress.

James and Lily. Sirius. Remus. Teddy. Ron and Hermione. Some of the DA group.

"I'm meant to be in this picture," I said, taking a closer look at the DA group.

"You walked out," Harry said, his expression carefully even.

I winced inwardly.

"Do you want to see the grounds?"

"You mean there's more of this place?

"Sure is," he said. "You haven't even seen the lake yet."

"There's a lake?"

At least he had the good graces to look embarrassed.

"Of course there's a bloody lake!" I exclaimed. "All those years, going on about how privileged and wealthy Malfoy was, and the whole time you've this place right under your nose."

"It's a nice lake!" he said defensively.

I made a face and he laughed.

"Do you have food in this place?" I asked.

"Yeah, kitchen's downstairs."

"I guess I never pictured you having a place like this," I said as we walked down.

"What did you think I'd have?"

"I don't know…maybe a cosy townhouse. Not something this, er, grand."

"Same, but it's grown on me. It feels like I belong here."

We entered a kitchen that my mother could only dream of.

A couple of pots were simmering on the stovetop, and a cask of butterbeer was opened on a benchtop, but the space largely looked empty.

"Drink?"

"Yeah, thanks."

"I got this batch from Rosemerta just yesterday."

He poured me a Butterbeer. I sat on a barstool and sipped from the glass as he checked his cooking.

"Quite domesticated, aren't we?" I remarked, teasingly.

He shot me a look.

"This feels normal. I'd like a bit of normal in my life."

My grin faded.

He could go from light-hearted to utterly serious in the blink of an eye.

"It was just a joke, Harry."

He looked uncomfortable.

"Yeah," he said, running a hand through his hair. "I know."

I noted an assortment of glassware stacked by a sink.

"You've had company?"

"A couple of the trainees the other day. They wanted to practice some spell work and the Auror Office is undergoing maintenance."

"How is the Auror business?"

"Dangerous. Although no one has tried to curse me this week, so that's nice," he said wryly, then dipped a spoon into the pot. "Here, try this."

"That's actually really good."

"Learned a few basics when we were out in the field. Ever tried a MRE? They're bloody rubbish."

"MRE?"

"Meal, ready to eat. The MLE has a fondness for TLAs," he replied.

"What's a TLA?"

"Three-letter acronym."

I threw the spoon at him.

"Prat."

* * *

The sound of waves crashing on the sand echoed across the secluded cove as Ivan Rusilov wrung salt water from his clothes.

The last few weeks had been unpleasant, to say the least. Three times, he had managed to evade the MLE as they cast their ever-tightening net over the British Isles.

He had made it to the continent, but his escape had not come without a price. With the Aurors chasing his every move, he had been forced to burn bridges. Most of his acquaintances in England were dead or imprisoned at the hands of the Auror Commander.

Wrapping his still-sodden clothing tightly around him, Rusilov made his way inland on foot. Apparition was too much of a risk. So was a simple warming charm. Eyes were everywhere, and he did not feel like escaping the British only to be caught by the French. Besides, his destination was not far.

He didn't like to admit it, but Harry Potter had impressed him. Rusilov had not stuck around to watch the Commander deal with the plane, but if the rumours were anything to go by, he had accomplished an extraordinary piece of magic.

He had walked for several miles before reaching the rural homestead, and he consciously let out a sigh of relief. The homestead, seemingly deserted to Muggles, had long been a safe haven.

Rusilov passed through the wards surrounding the house and made his way inside.

Immediately, he found a wand pointed at his throat.

"Put your wand down, Golan. It's me," he said evenly.

"He has grown impatient with your absence," Golan said, withdrawing his wand.

"He will understand," Rusilov spat.

"Don't be so certain, Ivan. Your little stunt with the aeroplane only exposed us."

"_He_ ordered me to do it."

Shock covered the other man's features.

"Don't tell me you didn't know," Rusilov jeered.

"He would've told me!" Golan said angrily.

"Perhaps you are not as important to him as you think you are," Rusilov replied scornfully.

"Enough."

Both men whirled in the direction of the fireplace at the sound of the new voice. A burning face hung suspended in the fire.

"I will not have my officers embroiled in petty squabbles."

Both offered contrite nods.

"Ivanovic, I will speak with you. Come."

The burning face dissipated into the embers as Rusilov took a pinch of Floo powder from the mantlepiece and followed his master into the flames.

* * *

_Ginny_

We had lapsed into a comfortable silence that was growing distinctly less comfortable with each moment that passed.

"Why are you here, Ginny?" Harry asked me.

"I didn't think you should be alone today."

"I've been alone before, Ginny. It didn't matter."

"It does matter."

"I'm not sixteen anymore, Ginny."

"You know, part of me wishes you were. I knew how to get you to listen then," I said, somewhat wistfully.

"I'm listening now, aren't I?" he replied.

I gave a snort.

"If you can call it that."

He sighed.

"I'm sorry. I'm rubbish company."

"Bloody awful," I agreed, and he let out a barking laugh that reminded me of Sirius.

I checked my watch and stood.

"We should go if we don't want to be late."

"Okay," he replied simply.

Wisps of snow were falling through the air as we appeared on the outskirts of Godric's Hollow.

Harry murmured under his breath, and a warming charm washed over us. A bell tolled in the distance as we made our way into the town. Illuminated by the street-lamps and shop windows, bustling villagers laden with shopping bags passed us by. Harry pulled up the hood of his greatcloak and I did the same.

Thousands of candles casting magical light were set up around the ruins of James and Lily's home. An elderly, venerable wizard wrapped in furs approached the front of the crowd, and began to speak.

"Tonight, we remember two fallen heroes of the first war against Voldemort. Lily and James Potter both gave their lives in protection of their son, Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, who would defeat Voldemort and bring about our salvation."

"Their sacrifice ultimately enabled freedom from tyranny. Their union, a pure-blood wizard and a Muggle-born witch, was one of many that defied the expectations and traditions of their time. But their love was stronger than any prejudice."

I slipped my hand into his as we listened the memorial.

"Thank you," he murmured.

I gave his hand a squeeze and replied.

"You're delusional if you think you're doing this alone."

* * *

The fireplace burst into life with a hissing sound as a face formed in the flames. Golan turned to it as the face spoke.

"Have faith, Golan. I have need of you."

"Master, I am yours to command."

"I have sent Rusilov to St. Petersburg. He is to entreat with the Dolohov family. You too, will journey."

"Where to?"

"You will negotiate an alliance with the warlocks at the Cold Keep in Vryheid. I am in need of their specialities."

"Yes master."

"Good. Leave tonight. Haste is of the utmost importance."

"Master, can I ask–"

Fiery eyes stared at him, baleful and dark with malice.

"I am going to give Harry Potter what he wants, Golan. I am going to give him a war."

* * *

_Ginny_

The bells of Godric's Hollow were still ringing as Harry and I traipsed through the snowy streets.

"It's late," he said, stopping. We had reached the edge of the village.

"What are your plans for tomorrow?"

"The Burrow. I'll head over in the morning."

"How are your parents? I didn't know how to talk to your Dad about…it all."

"They're better. They've always trusted each other, without question. Wrath of Merlin broke that trust. It was difficult, but they've talked it through."

"I haven't spoken to your Mum. Not properly. Or to Bill and Charlie - or George or Percy. Or the DA, for that matter…"

He still carried the guilt of walking away from us all after the Battle of Hogwarts, to join the Department of Mysteries. His sudden disappearance had hurt all of us. I had never give much thought to how it had hurt him.

"Join us for Christmas Dinner. A lot of people will be coming over. If you want to talk to them…I can help."

"It's been so long."

"They'll forgive you, Harry.

He nodded.

"I'll think about it," he said, and then shot me a grin. "Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas, Harry."

I pressed a kiss to his cheek.

He looked at me with an unreadable expression and I tried to ignore the sudden feeling of disappointment churning in my stomach as I stepped away.

Taking three steps, I turned and Disapparated.

* * *

The Honourable and Most Respected Magnus O'Brien, Senior Warlock to the Wizengamot - garbed in a dressing gown and fluffy slippers - took a seat and poured himself a glass of Ogden's Finest. He gave the man sitting in front of him a scowl.

"This had better be good, Kingsley. It's Christmas Eve and I was already in bed."

"You are one of the wisest wizards alive, Magnus. Trust me, I have never needed your counsel more than I have need of it now. An hour ago, the Department of Mysteries informed me of something I had hoped never to hear."

He paused.

"A new prophecy has been made. It came from the Spanish Seers. They've never been wrong. Not in two millennia."

Kingsley ran a hand over his scalp.

"They name Harry."

"That's a surprise," Magnus said sardonically.

Kingsley's face grew ashen as he spoke again.

"And another," he added gravely.

"Who?"

"Someone else. Someone they call the Dark Lord reborn."

* * *

_Ginny_

I pulled the duvet cover up to my chin, and with a flick of my hand, extinguished the lamp that sat by my bedside.

_Tap._

_Tap. Tap._

I sat up.

_Tap._

Stones - someone was throwing stones against my window. I grabbed my wand. It would take powerful magic to breach the security at Holyhead.

With a flick of my wand, I drew back the curtain.

And there, hovering on his Firebolt by the balcony, was Harry.

"What on earth are you doing?" I exclaimed.

"I'm outside your window," he said matter-of-factly, as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

"I can bloody well see that," I replied, but my tone was betrayed by the grin spreading across my face. I opened the door, wrapping my dressing robe tight to my chest as he dismounted his broom, placing soft feet on the balcony.

"Why are you here?"

"I can't do this, Ginny. I can't go on pretending that you don't mean something to me," he said desperately, his eyes locked onto mine. "We've been through too much together, far too much... I couldn't leave it like that."

"I understand that we've got a way to go. I do. And…" he added, "…I know I fucked up. More than once. And it likely won't be the last time."

He closed the distance between us.

"It's you. It's always been you."

He met my gaze again, and I knew that look, that same blazing look that we reserved only for each other…and then I was sixteen again, and scared, too scared that I'd never see him again.

And then his lips met mine, and my fear was gone as I melted into his embrace, my fingers curling into his hair.

We parted, and my eyes fluttered open, drinking in the sight of him. His grin was infectious, and I could feel a smile tugging at my lips.

His eyes held a question.

I answered.

We didn't need words.

We were telling each something we'd always known.

* * *

A/N: Including _Wrath of Merlin_, you've waited 34 chapters and some 130,000 words for this moment. Thanks for sticking with me.


	13. Reconciliation

It's been a good while - thanks for your patience! Life caught up with me and I haven't had the time to write unfortunately. Anyway, enjoy.

**XIII. Reconciliation**

"It's not whether you get knocked down; it's whether you get up."

– Vince Lombardi

"This starts with my apology."

Harry looked around the lounge of the Burrow.

"You…all of you…gave me so much more than I ever deserved. And you made greater sacrifices than I could ever hope to repay."

"I left, because I could ask no more of you. But in doing so I betrayed your belief in me. I'm asking you to believe in me once again."

"You are my friends. You are my family."

"Forgive me."

Fleur, radiant as ever, was the first to speak. She stood, placing a hand on her belly, and smiled warmly at him.

"You do not 'ave to ask, 'arry."

"We will always be 'ere."

* * *

Ginny stretched restlessly, and nestled herself into Harry's embrace.

"That went well."

"Are you talking about dinner or the sex?"

"Prat."

Harry smirked.

"I'm talking about the Burrow. I haven't seen Mum that happy in a long time."

"I'm glad."

She lifted her head off his shoulder and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

"Thank you."

They shared a comfortable silence.

"Are you worried about the selection?" Harry asked.

"Yeah. A little."

"Coach Booke was impressed with you in the wider training squad."

"How'd you know that?"

"His brother is my Healer."

"That's got to be the most exasperating job in the Wizarding World," she teased.

"Second only to being your boyfriend."

"Is that what we are? Boyfriend and girlfriend?"

"Yeah, I think so," Harry replied.

She gave him a smile.

"Can we keep it quiet? I want to avoid the press circus," he added.

"Of course."

"Just for a little while."

"We're going to have to organise protection for you too."

"You're kidding."

His face took on a somber expression.

"I wish I was."

"Am I going to have to go everywhere with an entourage like Kingsley?"

"No, it won't be anything like that. Our people are discreet, and it'll only be when you're in a high-risk area. Most of the time, you won't even notice them."

She pondered his words for a moment, then nodded.

"Okay."

* * *

The lift doors opened on Level Two, and Harry strode out with a scowl. He quickly made his way through the great iron doors and entered his office. Kara was sitting on a couch, rifling through a stack of parchment. At Harry's entrance, she stood and handed him a sheet from the stack.

"Here."

"Cheers. Happy Christmas."

"It was until the Spanish Seers opened their bloody mouths."

"What do you know about them?" he asked.

"They come from Villaviciosa. It's a small town in northern Spain. There are five Seers. Whenever they make prophecy, they speak with one voice."

"There's something of an academic contention as to whether or not they can be considered actual Seers, because they don't make long-term prophecy. As far as we have records, each prediction the Seers make has come to pass within the next twelve months."

"Commander, they're never wrong. They predicted the Malleus Maleficarum, the Inquisition, and the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand."

The fireplace suddenly roared into life with a brilliant green flash, and Kingsley strode out of it, followed by Magnus O'Brien, Albion Stark, and Marcus Savage, dusting soot off his robes.

"Happy Christmas, Harry," Kingsley greeted, shaking his hand.

"And to you."

"What do you know, Commander?"

"Not enough," Harry replied with an exasperated tone.

"My apologies, Harry. I didn't want it distributed. If it leaked, the public panic alone would be disastrous."

Kingsley gave Marcus Savage a nod, and the Auror placed a briefcase on the table, then tapped his wand to it. A moment later, it clicked open. Marcus pulled out a piece of parchment, and handed it to Kingsley.

Magnus cleared his throat.

"Miss Albright, I'm afraid we're going to have to ask you to–"

"She stays," Harry interrupted, his expression resolute. "If you trust me, you trust her."

Kara gave him a small smile in thanks as Kingsley read aloud.

"_A man with two lives,  
__who from darkness was torn.  
__He who commands Death  
__and the Dark Lord reborn._

_But hark! Now he comes.  
__And with him comes fear.  
__The servant becomes the master  
__as the Dark Lord draws near._

_Pay heed to our warning,  
__Ye who commands men.  
__And go to the dark, to fight  
__the Dark Lord again."_

"A man with two lives - we think that refers to you," said Magnus.

Harry nodded.

"And ye who commands men," Magnus added, "Your part in this, Harry, is fairly clear."

"What we don't know is who the Dark Lord reborn is," said Kingsley.

"Or the servant, for that matter," said Magnus.

"The servant becomes the master…who is the servant?" pondered Marcus.

"Maybe the servant becomes the Dark Lord," Kara volunteered.

"What do you think, Harry?" Kingsley asked.

Harry sat deep in though, a furrow between his brow. When he raised his head to speak, his face was troubled.

"Where is Voldemort's body?"

* * *

_Ginny_

"Good morning, please be seated…first up, Ginny Weasley, Holyhead Harpies."

The press secretary signalled at me, and I took my seat in front of the group of reporters.

_Flash. Flash flash._

"Ginny, are you nervous about the announcement scheduled tonight?"

"A bit, sure. Just like every player, I hope I've done enough to warrant consideration for the national team. But I don't have high expectations. I'm a rookie player."

"You're not just any rookie player, though. You're one of the most efficient Chasers in the League. Surely you're quietly confident. And it can't hurt that Gwenog Jones is team captain."

I took a sip of water, and cleared my throat.

"Look, I really don't know, to tell you the truth. Playing for England is a dream I've had ever since I started stealing my brothers' broomsticks out of the shed, but there are a lot of incredible players who I'm competing for a place against."

"Ginny, thanks for being here. Do you think you're too young to play at the international level?"

"I wasn't aware that there was an age restriction on throwing a Quaffle. Look, Krum caught the Snitch for Bulgaria and he was only 18."

* * *

The group of Aurors made their way across the Atrium with a quick, measured step, and entered a waiting lift. One of their number spoke in a low tone.

"Level Nine."

The doors closed and the lift plummeted downwards. Reaching its destination, the lift opened, and a voice rang out in clipped tones.

"Welcome to the Department of Mysteries."

An Unspeakable stepped out of the shadows, standing squarely in the corridor.

"I cannot allow you access."

"This isn't negotiable," Harry answered, his tone grave.

"The Department of Mysteries does not answer to the Auror Office."

"You're going to make an exception."

"I cannot."

"I am not in the mood to be fucked with," Harry said, his voice barely hiding his anger.

"That is not my issue."

Harry gave Albion a small nod.

With a sudden ferocity, Albion lashed out, striking the Unspeakable with a gloved fist. The man doubled over. Albion drew his wand and placed it against the man's throat. He spoke in a low growl, punctuating each word.

"As he said, we're not in the mood to be fucked with."

The group of Aurors continued down the passageway, making their way into the circular Entrance Chamber.

Twenty Unspeakables stood in their path, shoulder to shoulder, their wands raised as one.

"Commander. Your jurisdiction does not extend to the Department of Mysteries. We ask that you return to the Auror Office."

Harry lowered his hood and stood forward with a livid expression.

"You made a monster," he said, "But then you made a mistake."

The Auror Commander raised his wand, bringing the force of his magical energy to bear.

"You let the monster off the leash."

"So you are going to do two things," roared Harry, as bolts of light coalesced around his body. "First, you're going to lower your wands. And then, you will take me to Riddle's tomb."

* * *

"The Department of Mysteries is apoplectic. You pissed off a lot of powerful people with your behaviour down there," Kingsley admonished.

"They were studying it - him! _Studying_ his preserved corpse. I know the Department of Mysteries, Kingsley. I know what they wanted. They're not pissed because I threatened to curse them. They're pissed because I took away their toy!"

Kingsley sighed.

"I didn't know. I asked Mysteries to store the body after the Battle of Hogwarts. I didn't want it falling into the hands of the Death Eaters. It was the logical choice at the time. You of all people know that Mysteries was the safest place in the Ministry."

Harry nodded.

"I want it gone. Every trace of his evil. What arcane magic could do with his corpse doesn't bear thinking about. I want it destroyed."

"Of course," Kingsley replied.

The Minister for Magic rang a bell, and a secretary entered the room in a matter of seconds.

"Yes, Minister?"

"Get me someone in Downing Street. I need to speak to the Prime Minister."

* * *

_Ginny_

"Nervous?" asked George, a sly grin crossing his features.

"Shut up," I replied, glancing at the clock in the lounge of the Burrow for the umpteenth time that night.

_Five to one_.

"It'll be okay, Ginny," said Hermione, taking a long swig of her Butterbeer. "You know, I'm actually rather excited."

"If you make the team, I'll forgive you for breaking my broomstick when you were seven," teased Charlie.

"How kind of you," I replied dryly. "It's only been what, a decade?"

"_And now, we have word that Coach Booke….listeners, Coach Joseph Booke is about to announce the side. Please stand by."_

The lounge at the Burrow grew so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Harry placed a hand on my shoulder.

"_Good, er, morning. The players selected for the English National Team are as follows. Chasers: Jack Griffin, Tutshill Tornadoes. Mary Finwick, Puddlemere United. Valmai Morgan, Holyhead Harpies. Ginny Weasley, Holyhead Harpies. Brevis–"_

Harry picked me up and spun me around as everyone in the room erupted into cheers. Tears were standing in my Mother's eyes as she enveloped me in a bone-crushing hug.

I couldn't find words.

I was going to play in the World Cup.

* * *

"_Sensational rookie Ginny Weasley has been picked for England. What do we think?"_

"_Risky move. Look, I don't she's ready for it. I think experience outweighs the numbers."_

"_Normally, I'd agree with you, but her numbers can't be dismissed. Her strike rate and efficiency are ranked amongst the highest in the league, and she's scored at least 100 points in every game played in the last two months. Those are veteran numbers. Hell, I'd go as far to say, that if she keeps this up, Gwenog Jones may appoint Ginny as her successor."_

"_That's a big call. Look, when you're part of an offensive powerhouse like the Harpies, then it's not difficult to rack up the points. But offence doesn't win World Cups."_

"_Historically no - but that strategy relies on a low-scoring game that leaves the result in the hands of the Seeker. It leaves too much to chance."_

"_In her last game as Gryffindor Captain, she notched up 500 points against Slytherin. Even if they'd lost the Snitch, they would've won with 100 points clear. Winning in professional Quidditch means having an insurance policy against the Seeker. You either have a top-five Seeker - someone who can guarantee a catch -"_

"_-which we don't-"_

"_-or Chasers capable of clocking up a buffer. I think Ginny Weasley could–"_

The wireless suddenly switched off. I turned and glared at Harry, who had entered the room with a couple of drinks. Everyone else had long made it to bed.

"I was listening to that!" I pouted.

"You can always play it back later," he shrugged, handing me a drink.

"Besides," he added, drawing me to him. "I have something to say."

I raised my eyebrows.

"Oh?"

"My girlfriend is an international Quidditch player," he said, grinning. "I am so incredibly proud of you, Ginny Weasley."

"And do you know what I'm going to do?" he added, his voice low.

His mouth met my neck, sucking on my pulse point. I let out a shallow breath and pressed myself even closer to him. Already, his hands were skimming beneath the waistband of my jeans. I gasped as his hand dipped lower, brushing soft lace.

"Bedroom. Now."

* * *

Light filtered through the curtains, and I could hear rustling as Harry stirred next to me.

"I've got to go into the Office," Harry spoke, swinging his feet out of bed.

"Mmm. Don't," I replied sleepily.

"As much as I'd love to stay and shag you senseless, I have the small matter of national security to attend to."

"Sounds awfully boring."

"If only."

I laid awake as he showered and changed. There was something comforting in this sense of normalcy, however fleeting it might be.

I was a professional Quidditch player for England. He was the Auror Commander.

Not to mention the small matter of magical power.

I sat up as Harry returned, bearing a steaming mug.

"Here's your tea. Drop of milk, right?"

"Mmhm."

"Oh, the _Prophet's _on the dresser. You're on the front page. Something to do with me, I daresay," he said, shooting me a grin. "I'll be back later."

"Have fun saving the world."

He leant over and pressed a kiss to my forehead, before Disapparating.

I stretched, yawned, and clambered out of bed, wrapping myself in a satin robe and tying it loosely at my waist. I took a sip at my tea and unfolded the paper.

_ENGLAND'S HOPES AND DREAMS REST ON THESE SHOULDERS_

_Finally. After eleventh-hour deliberations, England has a Quidditch Team fit to take on the world. England registered players, and hundreds of fans stayed up until nearly 1 o'clock in the morning - the IQC deadline - to hear who'd made the cut. With minutes to spare, Coach Booke announced his side._

My eyes trailed down the page.

_GINNY WEASLEY NAMED AS FIRST STRING CHASER FOR ENGLAND_

_Ginny Weasley, the breakout star Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies, was today announced in the lineup as one of three new starting players on England's National Team. Weasley, famous for her involvement in the Battle at Hogwarts, and her well-speculated upon relationship with Harry Potter, is only 18, but will be 19 should England reach the final. When questioned about her age (the median playing age is 24) she stated that Victor Krum had caught the Snitch for Bulgaria at the age of 18, and joked that she wasn't aware of an age restriction on passing a Quaffle. _

_The critical response, however, is mixed. Some say that her excellent work rate, combined with blistering speed across the pitch, has earned her the spot. Others claim that whilst her start at the professional level has impressed many, they doubt she can bring the same level of performance to the hyper-intense international stage. The most negative are quick to dismiss her, saying Gwenog Jones, Captain in her last Quidditch World Cup Final, has played favourites to get her fellow Harpies teammate on the national squad, and that her inexperience will prove costly at crunch time._

I put the paper down.

The weight of expectation suddenly felt very, very heavy.

Everything was about to change.

* * *

The warrant officer looked across at the man and the woman he was transporting by Sea King helicopter over the North Sea.

In years of flying with the Royal Navy, he had never encountered a more unsettling pair.

The woman, a striking blonde, seemed of a similar age to his own daughter, yet she had an edge to her that he couldn't quite place. The man accompanying her was also young. He wore thin spectacles and had a scar on his forehead, partially covered by unruly jet black hair.

Both had piercing eyes that seemed to stare right through him, and far into the distance.

And sitting in the cargo bay next to the pair was a large steel container. It was rectangular in shape, and seemed to have no latch or opening to speak of.

Peculiar. And just three days after Christmas, too.

But he wasn't about to ask questions.

No reason, no explanation. His captain hadn't been told, and the superior ranks above him hadn't been given anything either, except that the ship was to make every accommodation for the two people he was transporting. He was to be addressed as sir. She was to be addressed as ma'am.

Spooks, working for MI5. That had to be it.

"We're on approach," crackled the voice of the pilot over the headset. Moments later, the helicopter began its descent. From the window, the warrant officer could make out the foreboding shape of the aircraft carrier below.

_HMS Invincible._

There was a jolt as the helicopter landed on the deck.

"We're clear," came the voice over the headset.

The man with jet black hair stepped out of the helicopter, steadying himself as he became accustomed to the pitch of the deck. He waited with his blonde partner as the warrant officer instructed a group of attentive sailors to remove the container from the aircraft.

Once it was set on the deck, the man rested his hand on top of the large container. It opened with a _click, _revealing its unmistakable contents: a body, concealed head to toe in a white cloth, and wrapped in thick iron chains.

The man spoke in a solemn tone.

"Over the side."

"I can find a flag for the body, if you'd like sir?" asked one of the crew.

"No, thank you," the man replied.

The sailor gave a sharp nod in reply.

"Of course, sir."

Four men carefully lifted the body from the container and carefully manoeuvred it to the edge of the deck, before tipping it overboard. It dropped into the depths below.

The man with the glasses let out a slow breath. The blonde woman took his hand, giving it a squeeze. Together, they walked back to the helicopter.

* * *

A/N: Please review! More action next chapter…which should hopefully be out a lot sooner.


	14. 24 Hours in Wizarding Britain

A/N: Thank you all for your feedback. I really enjoy your theories and thoughts on where the story is going.

A couple of people inquired as to why I chose a burial at sea, as opposed to a cremation for Voldemort's body. Simple answer: I like the parallel it has with Osama bin Laden. A sea burial of an enemy combatant felt appropriate when Seal Team Six took care of business in May 2011, and it felt appropriate here too.

This chapter has been in the works for a while, and it's a little bit different. I hope you enjoy it.

**XIV. 24 Hours in Wizarding Britain**

"The streets of heaven are too crowded with angels tonight. They're our students and our teachers and our parents and our friends. The streets of heaven are too crowded with angels, but every time we think we have measured our capacity to meet a challenge, we look up and we're reminded that that capacity may well be limitless."

– President Josiah 'Jed' Bartlet

**0440**

Harry groggily swung his tired body from his bed and made his way to a fireplace, which was spitting green flames.

He glanced at his watch and let out a groan.

"This had better be good," he said, peering at the face that had appeared in the flames.

"Good morning, sir. I'm terribly sorry to wake you, but I'm afraid I must deliver some bad news."

* * *

**0755**

Ignoring the grumble in her stomach, Kara Albright arrived at the Auror Commander's office. Placing a copy of the day's schedule and a ream of parchment with the overnight reports,

Executive duty was coveted by third-year Trainees as the best possible placement. Rather than being fostered off to the Law Enforcement Squads or the diplomatic details, Executive Officers - Exo's - were always by the Commander's side. The inside track on everything.

But this morning, Kara would have traded places with someone performing the dullest of protection services in a heartbeat. In half an hour, the _Prophet_ would know what she knew, and ten minutes after that, so would half of Wizarding Britain.

And then there would be hell to pay for.

* * *

**0758**

The lift doors opened, and Harry exited, walking briskly towards the Auror Office. He passed through the iron doors, and was greeted by the wizard at reception.

"It's a nice day today, isn't it, sir?"

"Don't worry, we'll take care of that in a hurry."

The Commander made his way to his office, where he found Kara, flicking through the early edition of the _Daily Prophet_.

"Morning."

"Morning, Commander. Have you heard the news?"

"Yeah. The Goblins are in uproar."

"I'm not surprised. What the fuck were they thinking?"

"I imagine the problem was that no one bothered to stop and think," Harry replied, his eyes flicking over the report in front of him, before he gave a noise of annoyance.

"Have you eaten?" he asked.

"Not yet."

"How about some breakfast?"

Her mood brightened.

* * *

**0805**

"A croissant and bacon," Kara requested. The man nodded and reappeared moments later with her order.

Harry looked at her with raised eyebrows.

"I like croissants. And I like bacon," the witch shrugged.

"We'll take two coffees as well," asked Harry, handing several Sickles to the man serving.

"Won't be long."

"Thanks," Kara said as they took seats.

"No problem."

* * *

**0822**

"_Breaking News from Gringotts Bank this morning following the failure of two major Wizard-Goblin joint investments. Financial markets have tumbled…folks, I'm getting word that the Auror Commander is with reporters now, let's take you live."_

"Commander, you're live with WWN Breaking News. What will you discuss with the Minister?"

"No comment," Harry replied, walking briskly through the Atrium.

"Several goblin factions are mobilising, what's your response?"

"No comment."

"Is there any truth to the rumours that Gringotts is on the verge of collapse?"

Harry stepped into the lift and hit the button for Level One.

"No comment."

* * *

**0830**

"We dropped sixty points within two minutes of opening. Frankfurt's down twenty-one," Kingsley stated, flicking through a ream of parchment.

"How's Tokyo?" Harry questioned.

"Since when did you start on magical economy?"

"Since the Goblins started talking about heads rolling," Harry replied.

Kingsley nodded.

"Fair enough. What's your take, security-wise?"

"It's basic. If we respond poorly and our domestic markets suffer for it, then the Goblins will be extremely upset."

"Funny that."

"It's almost like they don't like losing money," Harry said glibly.

Kingsley smirked.

"There's little we can do, except wait and see how it plays out," Harry added sagely. "Any unrest will only make the situation worse though."

"I got Flooed by the German Minister earlier. Half of his Council want to cut our rebuild loans."

"They do realise that the value of our Galleons fell through the floor when Voldemort took over?" Harry replied.

"I did stress that point to him. And that our coffers were cleaned out by Death Eaters."

"How much of that have we repatriated?" Harry asked.

"Conservative estimate: eight percent."

"You'd think that with magic, we wouldn't have the threat of financial disaster."

"If only."

Harry sighed, and stood.

"Keep me updated. I've got a full morning tied up in training."

"Sure. Have your bags packed though. I might need you in Frankfurt on short notice."

* * *

**0850**

"How did your meeting go?"

"The Germans want to stop giving us money."

"That's a worry," Kara remarked.

"It makes no sense. It'll bolster them temporarily, but when we fall through the floor because they cut off our loans, then their own markets will suffer for it."

"When did you study magical economy?"

"You know, Kingsley just asked me that. Six o'clock this morning. But there's nothing I can do right now. Do you have a go bag ready?

"Of course."

"Good. What's happening with training?

"Full second year."

"Lovely. Let's bang some heads together."

* * *

**1050**

"I'm sorry to bother you, Commander, but your presence is required by the Wizengamot. An emergency session has been called."

Harry gave the aide a nod. "I'll be there."

He cleared his throat and addressed the Trainees, several of whom were nursing small injuries.

"Duty calls, so we're finishing early today. Continuing practicing your shield-work with Auror O'Reilly. We'll start on offensive dark magic next week."

* * *

**1101**

"This Council is now in session. We recognise the Minister for Magic."

Kingsley stood to address the Chamber.

"Councillors, I won't sugarcoat this. We are close to the brink of financial collapse."

"The Ministry, as you all know, had significant capital tied into a fund managed by Tribe Ragnuk. That investment failed overnight. It threatens our ability to repay the loans granted to us by the European Council of Magic, and hampers our reconstruction efforts."

* * *

**1228**

Harry strode to the podium, adopting a carefully neutral expression.

_Flash._

_Flash. Flash._

"Good afternoon."

"What did you discuss in the emergency session with the Wizengamot this morning?"

"Our response to the present economic situation. Let me be clear that the Wizengamot has nothing less than the utmost concern for this crisis."

"Commander, are you worried that you have lost money today?"

"My personal wealth isn't relevant."

"Commander, is it true that you're going to Germany to resolve this crisis?"

"The Minister has made no formal decision on personnel at this time."

"Why isn't he going?"

"He acts in the best interests of the people of Wizarding Britain. If that requires him to stay in London, then he'll stay in London. If he thinks he's better off going to Frankfurt, then I have no doubt he'll be there."

"Commander, two Goblin factions have broken ties with us just today. Are we on the verge of another Goblin attack?" "The Goblins are a proud and noble people. I don't think a minority will sway clearer heads from prevailing."

"What preparations have you made should such an attack eventuate?"

"I'm going to use _Daily Prophet _reporters as cannon fodder if you continue trying to incite violence," Harry replied with irritation.

* * *

**1309**

"There's a crowd growing at Gringotts."

"Yeah?" Harry replied through his sandwich.

"Apparently the line stretches right back to Eyelops. Everyone's taking as much money as they can carry."

Harry swallowed and reach for a glass of water.

"I'm sure the bank is overjoyed."

"Think we need to worry?"

"No. Gringotts can handle itself. Make sure someone from the Squad keeps an eye on things though."

* * *

**1400**

"The last year or so has been tumultuous."

"Tell me about it," quipped Harry.

"Er, I mean for the Tribe. There's considerable dissent within Ragnuk over the Tribe's relationship with the Ministry. The ruling elders have been able to keep things under hand - at least whilst the invested performed. But following today's news, that may all change. Two of the major families have mobilised."

Harry appraised the man sitting on the other side of his desk, sent by the Goblin Liaison Office to brief him of the situation. He seemed nervous, his eyes not knowing where to rest. and was fidgeting with the sleeve of his robe.

"You think the goblins are gearing up for a fight?"

"Well, no, but a mobilisation is uncommon."

"You don't think that they're just posturing?"

"Goblins are deliberate. Everything they do has a carefully crafted motive behind it. What that motive is, I can't say."

* * *

**1420**

"Here are the numbers you wanted," said Kara.

"Cheers."

"Anything from Germany?" he asked.

"Nothing yet."

"Alright."

"Coffee?"

"Please."

"How's Ginny?" Kara asked as she busied herself with conjuring a couple of drinks.

"She's in camp with the National Team until Thursday week."

"You should Floo her. She'd appreciate it."

"I was-" he paused mid-sentence, his eyes narrowing. "You've been talking to Hermione."

"It's for your own good."

"You're enjoying this far too much."

"It's the little things that get me through the day, sir."

* * *

**1515**

"We've got marching orders," said Kara, handing him a unfolded memo. "Aurors are to accompany Magical Trade. They'll deal with the negotiations. We're there officially as security, but - "

"Unofficially as celebrity," Harry interjected.

"Yeah. Formal robes are in your office."

"Thanks. Find out if Siobhan's free. We'll bring her along if she is."

"Sure thing."

"When's our departure?"

"Thirty minutes."

* * *

**1630**

"Welcome, Mr Potter. It's a great honour to meet you, and to welcome you to Germany."

"Thank you. It's very nice to be here in an official capacity."

"You've visited before?"

"A couple of times last year."

The man's eyes widened as Harry moved to greet the next dignitary.

"Nothing like a bit of Wrath of Merlin mystique to spice up diplomatic relations," Kara murmured in his ear.

Harry shot her a grin in reply.

After the greetings were concluded, the delegation was led to a large boardroom. Harry made his way towards a large group of seats in the back where a number of minor functionaries and officials were seated, but Magnus grabbed his shoulder and pointed to the table set in the middle of the room. Harry was surprised to see his name on a placard.

He followed Magnus to his seat, joining the others. A man with a short crop of blond hair rose to speak.

"Good day," the man spoke in clipped English, "Let us get to business. But first, introductions. Let me present Jacques Le Roux, the French Treasurer."

"Narlfang, of the Goblin Monetary Fund."

"Ragnor, of the Ragnuk Tribe."

"Gronaught, representing Gringotts Europe."

"Magnus O'Brien, Senior Warlock to the Wizengamot and British High Representative to the European Council of Magic."

"Someone who needs no introduction. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and currently, the Auror Commander."

"And of course, myself. Stefan Kaufmann, German High Representative to the European Council of Magic."

"Let us begin."

* * *

**1730**

"We can't take that money off the table."

"We don't expect you to."

"Gentlemen, we've been at this for an hour. I think a recess is in order."

There was a murmur of consensus.

Harry leaned over to Magnus O'Brien.

"Where are we?"

The warlock's tone was tense.

"Nowhere yet."

* * *

**1923**

The French Treasurer raised his hands in exasperation.

"We've been over this! There's no way –"

Harry slammed his fist down on the table. "Enough!"

The room fell silent.

"We've been going around and around for hours," Harry said through gritted teeth.

"Mr Potter, would –"

"I'm sorry," Harry said, placatingly, and exhaled.

"Look, those who have already suffered will only lose more if you redraw the war loans. So I implore you. Back the loans. The money to repay them is there. Trust in our ability to rebuild."

"As I'm sure you know, I was raised by Muggles, unaware and unknowing of the magical world. Back then, magic was something that could fix anything, and make any problem go away."

He paused.

"I know that a wave of my wand won't fix this, but what I'm saying is that I'm asking you to believe in a little bit of that magic now."

"I'm no economist. I'm no banker. So I'm asking those of you who are: please help us. We need it more than ever."

* * *

**2025**

_Flash. Flash. Flash flash, flash._

"Harry! Harry!"

"How was Frankfurt?"

The mob of reporters descended on Harry as soon as he appeared in the Atrium.

_Flash._

"What did you discuss with the Germans?"

Harry raised his hand in a gesture for quiet.

"Thank you. The Minister and the Office for Magical Trade will be releasing statements."

"Why not yourself?"

"It's not the purview of the Auror Office. I was acting in a security capacity."

_Flash. Flash._

"Sources are telling us that you were directly-"

"The Minister's Office and Magical Trade are the ones doing the real work."

Kara handed Harry a scrap of parchment. He read it, then combusted it in his hand.

_Flash. Flash, flash._

"Thank you. Duty calls."

* * *

**2030**

"Tell me everything you know."

"Suspected Death Eaters, suspected Snatchers. At least a score of Goblins. MLE guards are sustaining heavy fire," reported Kara. "Marcus was on the long watch. He'll brief on the play."

Harry strode through the iron doors of the Auror Office. Aurors were rushing frantically every which way, strapping on combat gear.

"Sir, you're got the brief?" asked Marcus Savage.

"Yeah. Gringotts under attack in primetime," Harry replied, taking the combat vest handed to him by Kara. "What is this, Christmas fucking morning at the _Prophet?_"

"I'm sure they're happy about it, sir," Marcus replied, checking his watch. "Okay sir, you're first assault, I'll take second. Siobhan third. Proudfoot has recon. Fourteen of us in all."

"Sounds good."

Marcus turned to address the room. "Sixty seconds!"

* * *

**2033**

"We're taking fire!" the MLE Officer yelled.

"_Aurors inbound. Be advised, Aurors inbound,"_ crackled a voice over his headset.

A bolt of white lightning screamed by overhead and exploded in the middle of the Alley.

Red and blue jets flew back in retaliation, but were absorbed by a shimmering blue shield cast by Harry as he charged forwards.

"Perimeter established. Engage with prejudice," announced John Proudfoot over his headset.

"About time," Harry muttered.

He fired a series of Stunners at the assailants, downing two. Beside him, Kara unleashed two vivid curses, both finding their marks. Harry sidestepped to avoid a green jet, and retaliated with a wave of inky black darkness that howled down the passageway with an unearthly shriek.

"That'll do it." He keyed his headset. "First assault is clear."

* * *

**2145**

Harry walked briskly over the cobblestones, surveying the aftermath of the battle. The Alley had been cordoned off, and MLE personnel were positioned around the periphery. Smoke and haze from several fires still lingered in the air, and Healers attended to several wounded.

"There hasn't been blood spilt between goblins and men like this in over a century," Harry stated woodenly, looking at the damaged facade of Gringotts. The bodies of several Goblins lay still on the steps, small and frail in death.

"We had no choice," said John Proudfoot. The Auror had a nasty gash above his eye, and still held his wand tightly in his hand.

"Gringotts is sacred ground. Ragnor will be harsh, I can promise. The tribe is embarrassed by the betrayal of their own," Gronaught, the goblin representing Gringotts Europe stated.

"I don't doubt it," Harry replied.

"We will resume trading in the morning. My hope is that this unpleasantness does not adversely affect the market," Gronaught added.

"As is mine."

Harry inclined his head low to the goblin in a show of respect. Gronaught returned the gesture, then disappeared into thin air.

* * *

**2230**

Kara sat down at her desk, tapped her wand to the wireless, and took a Butterbeer off the shelf.

"_Good evening. The Auror Commander will deliver a short statement, but will not be taking any questions at this time. Thank you."_

There was a pause, and then Harry's voice, cold and somber came through the wireless.

"_Today has been a sobering reminder that we live in an uncertain world."_

"_We have faced the very real possibility of economic crisis, and endured yet another act of senseless violence against our own. To those who would seek to emulate the actions of the aggressors, let me say this: there is no way, no conceivable outcome, in which this ends with anything else but your doom." _

"_As long as the Ministry permits, the Aurors will continue to exercise the most extreme prejudice against all acts of terrorism. You will not find forgiveness. You will not find fear. Consider this your only warning."_

* * *

**2300**

"Drink?"

"Please."

"Siobhan?"

"Cheers," said the witch, taking the drink.

"Marcus?"

"Aye, thanks," replied Marcus Savage, accepting a Butterbeer.

Harry walked into the Office and approached the group at the cubicle.

"Drink, boss?" Siobhan offered.

"Sure."

Harry sat down and took a long swig.

"We did good work today," he said.

"Gringotts is safe, we're still getting paid, and we all became economics majors," quipped Kara.

"How's John?" Siobhan asked.

"Fine. St Mungo's stitched up his forehead and sent him home. How's your ankle?"

"Only a sprain."

"Good."

The group sat in quiet contemplation for a moment.

"Sir?"

"Yeah?

"What we've been hearing about Nazar…are you worried?"

"Yes," Harry replied simply. "I'm worried that every single time we seem to get close, the trail disappears. I'm worried that his reputation alone is a deterrent. I'm worried that the underworld is terrified of him."

"And I'm worried that there's no guarantee the prophecy refers to him."

* * *

**0020**

"How's training?"

"Exhausting. Booke has us running ten-hour game drills for the next three days. I swear he's some kind of sadist," Ginny replied, her face in the flames of his fireplace.

"Lovely."

"How was Frankfurt? Are we going to wake up with a functioning government in the morning?"

"Could still go either way," Harry said dryly.

"I guess you've still got another six or seven hours for something to go wrong."

Harry gave a short laugh.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"This is going to sound silly."

"No judgement," he said, bemused.

"I miss you. And I know it's only ten days, but-"

"I miss you too."

* * *

**0448**

"Commander."

Harry sat up and hunted for his glasses on the nightstand. He gave a groan and peered through squinted eyes at the face in the fireplace.

"Yeah?"

"I have good news, Commander. Our people just flagged a movement in Moscow. Despite his very best intentions to stay hidden from sight, we've found Ivan Rusilov."

* * *

A/N: Next chapter should hopefully be no more than a month away. Thanks for reading!


	15. Somebody's Going to Emergency

A/N: It's been a while. Unfortunately life caught up with me and I haven't been in a position to write. Those who've been following this from the beginning will know that I'd prefer not to compromise on my work by rushing a chapter out. As always, thanks for your patience and sticking with me!

**XV. Somebody's Going to Emergency, Somebody's Going to Jail**

"The world is not black and white. More like black and grey." – Graham Greene 

* * *

__

_IN THE AUROR OFFICE, NO RULE OF LAW_

_A damning new report on the Auror Office has revealed the precarious state of the highest division of law enforcement in the land. Under Auror Commander Harry Potter, who declined to comment on this article, the Auror Office purportedly disregards jurisprudence with alarming regularity._

_According to unnamed sources within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the Auror Office acts as 'a rouge hit squad, with little to no consultation' with senior MLE officers on judicial matters. A significant source of frustration for the MLE stems from the hoarding of intelligence information by the Auror Office, who form the Special Operations Command of the Ministry's Intelligence Division._

_The report suggests that several suspected Death Eaters never made it to trial, and were instead summarily executed upon their apprehension. The report is damning for the Shacklebolt Administration and high-profile Auror Commander Harry Potter, less than a year after the illegal black-ops mission Operation Wrath of Merlin came to light._

Harry Potter slammed the _Daily Prophet _down on his desk.

"Kara!"

The blonde witch stuck her head through the door.

"Yeah?"

"If anyone needs me, I'll be at the _Prophet," _he said, grabbing his cloak.

"Don't do anything illegal."

"I'm not making any promises," he replied through gritted teeth.

* * *

Betty Braithwaite, the current Editor-in-Chieft of the _Daily Prophet_ was a small, simpering witch with beady eyes and a haughty expression. Harry disliked her almost immediately.

"I want to know who commissioned the report, who wrote it, and who leaked it."

"I can't release my sources, Mr Potter. The _Prophet_ has a stringent policy on–"

"I don't give two fucks about your _stringent fucking policy_," Harry said through gritted teeth. "Give me your source or so help me Merlin, I'll pull your license and you'll never publish a newspaper again."

"You can't do that! The _Prophet_ is the shining beacon of the fourth estate!" she shrilled. "We keep–"

"Yeah, I recall your editorial board did an excellent job of denouncing Voldemort."

"I…I wasn't…"

"How did you describe him?" Harry asked, his voice icy. "Tell me, what did the headline say? Undesirable Number One?"

"Mr Potter, past transgressions notwithstanding, I simply cannot–"

"No. You can. And you will," Harry interjected, in a tone that left no room for argument. "Consider it payment for a longstanding debt. Your paper's made millions slandering and celebrating me in equal measure, and now I've come to collect."

* * *

"How was the _Prophet_?" Kara asked.

"Just lovely," Harry replied dryly. "What's next?"

"Albion needs to brief you. Siobhan too. Then you've got the Wizengamot at 11."

Harry took his seat.

"Alright. Bring them in."

* * *

"Talk to me. What do we know?"

"Commander, we've received fairly comprehensive evidence of a planned attack on any one of several major magical locales throughout Europe," reported Albion Stark.

"We've traced it across a number of sources. It's credible," Siobhan O'Reilly added.

"Get me a more detailed target list," said Harry.

"We're on it."

"Where are we with Rusilov?" Harry asked.

"He's left Moscow, and heading west," Albion replied.

"Don't lose him."

"We won't. We've got Rivers on his tail."

"Rivers?" Harry inquired.

"Jackson Rivers. Finest Field Auror alive," Siobhan interjected.

"I'll pull his file," said Kara.

"Cheers," Harry said, and stood.

"Alright. I want updates every half hour. I'll brief the Minister once I get the list. Thank you."

* * *

"Here's the file on Rivers," Kara said, handing him a thick ream of parchment.

"Cheers. What can you tell me about him?"

"He's old school. Graduated top of Mad Eye Moody's House of Pain - that's what they used to call his classes in Auror Training. Scrappy duellist, very physical. Upon graduating, he was assigned to diplomatic protection. Lasted a week before threatening to quit out of sheer boredom. Rufus Scrimgeour put him in the field on assignment, and the rest is history."

"Indulge me," Harry said.

"Rivers went into deep cover - really deep. He was a sleeper agent for three years, and went so quiet that the Office thought he'd gotten himself KIA. Then, one day, he shows up in the Office, barely recognisable, saying that he'd completed the mission - and to prove it, he pulled out the severed head of the target he was assigned to," Kara explained.

"Scrimgeour was supposedly livid that Rivers had left his assignment without permission, and hauled him in front of an MLE tribunal for an explanation. And this is the best bit - this is what Rivers said in reply."

"What?" Harry questioned.

"_I got sick of waiting," _Kara recited.

"Brilliant."

"Eyewitnesses say that it was the only time they'd ever seen Mad Eye laugh."

* * *

Harry took his seat in the Wizengamot moments before Warlock Shaw stood to address the group of legislators.

"I bring before this Chamber a matter of grave concern!"

"Here we go," muttered Harry.

"This report, which was released by the _Prophet_ this morning, finds the Auror Office guilty of gross misconduct!"

"Failure to adhere to judicial law! Failure to share information. Failure to follow procedure. Turning a blind eye to underworld dealings! Unchecked speculation on the stock exchange. Associations with known criminals! Profiteering through unlicensed gambling dens! The list goes on!"

"You know, some of those are actually true," Harry murmured to the Councillor sitting next to him, who let out a snort of laughter.

"I demand further inquiry! Too long has the Auror Office held itself above the law!"

Shaw turned to look directly at Harry.

"Clearly, changes must be made."

There was a smattering of applause and shouts of support. A wizard two rows below Harry banged his fist in approval.

Magellan singled out Harry amongst the throng.

"Councillor, your right of reply."

Harry stood at the Presiding Warlock's gesture, and cleared his throat.

"I work in the most dangerous profession in the entire wizarding world. And that includes people who work with _dragons_. So I don't appreciate it when Warlock Shaw suggests that I don't know how to do my job - and brandishes an unsubstantiated report as evidence!"

Harry paused, surveying the room.

"There's a saying, by a famous Muggle, that goes like this: _'We sleep safely in our beds because rough men stand ready in the night to visit violence on those who would harm us."_

He pointed a finger at Shaw.

"The Aurors are the rough men, Warlock. And if that concerns you, or if you doubt our methods, then you need a history lesson."

* * *

The pealing bell rang through Harry's bedroom, and he awoke with a groan. Ginny stirred next to him but didn't wake. The fireplace had roared to life, and a face was visible in the flames.

"Good morning sir."

Harry checked the time and swore.

"This had better be bloody good."

"Sir, Ivan Rusilov made landfall in Dover about twenty minutes ago. He met with an associate. Auror Rivers still has his tail."

"Establish a perimeter around Rusilov. And get Rivers in for debrief."

Some twenty minutes later, mug in hand, Harry strode into the Auror Office, where Siobhan sat waiting for him. She was accompanied by a tall, burly man garbed in a MLE standard-issue greatcloak.

"Merlin's balls, you've barely hit puberty," the man exclaimed. He had a grizzled, weathered look about him, and piercing eyes not unlike those of Dumbledore.

"Commander, this is Jackson Rivers," Siobhan introduced the man.

"Jackson, this is the Auror Commander. He defeated Voldemort in single combat, in case you needed a reminder of that fact," she added in a strained tone.

Rivers shrugged and addressed Harry.

"Your wee stint with Mysteries was more impressive. None of the pansy-arse bullshit the Wizengamot have you doing nowadays. _Real_ work."

"I'm glad you're a fan," Harry replied dryly, wondering not for the first time if Jackson Rivers was just as mad as his famous teacher had been.

"Can we talk business?" Siobhan asked.

"I've been keeping an eye on the Dolohovs, as per the orders of your predecessor," Rivers began.

"Anyway, Ivan here shows up, and has me curious-like. What's Ivanovic Rusilov doing talking to the Dolohov family? See, Rusilovs and Dolohovs aren't too fond of each other."

"So I do some snooping. Turns out Ivan is here in Moscow on the orders of Nazar. Now I've never seen Nazar, but he's got a reputation. Rumours of part-giant. Vicious. Sadistic. But he keeps to the shadows."

"Anyway, Ivan flashes the Galleons, and strikes a deal with the Dolohovs. Then he heads west, with new marching orders. Berlin. Bruges. Calais. London. And here we are."

"Where is he right now?"

"An hour outside of the city. Got a Trace on him."

"He can't detect it?"

"I could put a Trace on _you_ and you wouldn't be able to detect it."

Harry smirked.

"Someday we're going to test that theory. But right now, we take Rusilov. Tonight."

* * *

"An anti-apparition perimeter will be set at a two-mile radius. The Commander will personally set a ward that will restrict any Portkeys within a 500-yard radius. A Hitwizard Squadron will man the perimeter at the one-mile mark, and MLE Enforcement at the two-mile mark. Three assault teams, led by the Commander, Rivers, and Proudfoot will converge on the target shortly after 2100. Rivers' team will take point, as he has the Trace on the target. A fourth assault team, led by myself, will intercept the target in the event he tries to flee. We'll be stationed 400 yards out," briefed Albion, gesturing to a series of diagrams that depicted the planned assault.

"He's undoubtedly set wards to prevent detection."

"Break them. We need to provoke him into an open firefight. From there, the assault teams should be able to fight their way to him."

"What about company?"

"Intelligence estimates between twelve and twenty associates. They're knowingly harbouring an internationally-wanted terrorist and are also culpable. You have an authorisation to use any force deemed necessary to extract Ivanovic Rusilov. If some unfortunate fuck tries to get in the way, get them _out_ the way. Do you understand?"

There was a chorus of assent.

"Good. Commander, do you have anything you'd like to add?"

"Whatever you do, do not kill Rusilov," Harry stated. "I cannot stress the importance of bringing him in alive. Rusilov is Nazar's right hand. The information he has is critical to finding the real threat - Nazar."

* * *

"A Team."

"_Ready."_

"B Team."

"_Ready."_

"C Team."

"_Ready."_

"D Team."

"_Standing by."_

"Engage."

Harry led his team forward at a sprint, then hurled himself to the ground as a Killing Curse streaked overhead.

"Taking fire!"

Harry clambered to his feet, bringing his wand around in a sweeping arch as he did, and sent a blast of white lightning in retaliation.

"What's Rusilov's status?"

The voice of Jackson Rivers crackled over Harry's headset.

"_Stationary."_

With two sharp jabs, Harry disarmed and stunned a witch, and then sparred briefly with another, before a series of intricate curses brought her down too. Three more robed figures rushed his team, and were met with pinpoint Stunners. Behind them, the other assault teams were making light work of their own opponents.

"Update."

"_Rusilov's heading in your direction, he's moving, he's moving! Intercept!"_

"There, on the ridge!"

Harry spun on his heel and reappeared in front of the Dark Wizard. A torrent of Fiendfyre exploded from Harry's wand and encircled Rusilov, trapping him.

"That's Fiendfyre, Ivan," Harry said grimly. "There's no escape."

With resignation in his eyes, Rusilov pressed his wand to his own throat.

"_Avada Ke–"_

"–_Expelliarmus!" _Harry roared, thrusting his hand out in a desperate claw. At the last possible moment, Rusilov's wand tore itselffrom its owner's grip. Spinning through the air, it landed in Harry's outstretched hand as Rivers launched a Stunner that dropped the dark wizard as fast as the eye could blink.

* * *

"At the request of the Auror Commander, the National Security Council has been convened. The Minister for Magic is also in session. Commander, the floor is yours."

"Good evening," Harry began.

"Earlier tonight we apprehended Ivan Rusilov after a protracted firefight. We were lucky to take him alive. He's being held at the Holt under heavy guard. Four Aurors in the room. A score of Hitwizards outside. We're keeping him unconscious."

Kingsley nodded.

"Alright."

"He has information that we hope could lead us right to Nazar. I want your authorisation to interrogate him."

"This is hardly the time," said one of the wizards in attendance.

"Agreed. Scrutiny of your Office is at an all-time high, Potter," added another.

"In this room, it's _Commander,_"Harry interjected, his jaw set, then continued.

"I appreciate that this is a volatile time. But how about six months from now, when Nazar strikes, and the public finds out we were in a position to do something about it?"

A third wizard cleared his throat and spoke.

"I'm still not convinced Nazar is a credible threat - or that an attack from him is imminent, as you're suggesting. But Rusilov is undoubtedly guilty of terrorist activity, and surely any information we can get from him will have value. You have my vote, Commander."

Harry nodded in acknowledgement.

"Thank you."

"Any further objections?" questioned Kingsley.

There was a brief silence.

"Good. I move to a vote. All those in favour of the Commander's request, raise your right hand."

Nine hands in the room went up. It would be enough.

"The ayes have it. Commander, your request is formally granted."

* * *

"Ivanovic Rusilov," Harry announced, entering the cell with Jackson Rivers behind him.

Harry pushed a scrap of parchment under the dark wizard's nose.

"See this? It's what we in the Auror business call a blank cheque."

"It gives me immunity from prosecution for whatever action I might take during this interrogation, and let me be clear, an interrogation is _precisely_ what this is."

"You are going to tell us everything you know about your boss. Nazar. Where he is. Where he came from. And what his plans are."

"What makes you think I would talk?"

Harry grinned, and there was an unsettling gleam in his eye.

"See, I was kind of hoping you'd say that."

Harry gave a curt nod to Rivers, and the burly Field Auror placed Rusilov in a tight headlock.

"Hold him steady."

"You know, I can't help but think of what you said to me on that plane," Harry mused quietly.

A bead of sweat ran down Rusilov's forehead.

Harry placed his wand at the base of Rusilov's throat, and spoke again, in a chill whisper.

"Good luck."

* * *

_Ginny_

"Harry! Ginny!"

_Flash. Flash flash._

"Another Saturday night, another Ministry party," I murmured as we paused, giving strained smiles to the assembled throng of reporters.

"You get the distinct feeling that we're here because the donors who give money to Kingsley like to have their pictures taken with us?" Harry asked.

"I'm surprised it's not written into your contract," I replied.

He took two drinks from a passing server and handed one to me.

"How are you holding up after the thing with Shaw?"

"You heard about that?"

"Harry, it was on every front page in the country. Hell, I think the _Quibbler_ published it."

He laughed aloud

"I heard Shaw on the radio, something about scandalous behaviour on your behalf," I added.

"Yeah, true Ministry scandal: saying something that's the truth."

"Do you think he'll ever let it go?"

"Shaw? He'll flog it to death, find some way of resurrecting it, and then flog it some more."

"What does he have against you?"

"Nothing personally really. It's more against Kingsley."

"Oh."

"Not everyone agrees on the way of doing things. And in the Wizengamot, where everyone has an opinion, reaching any kind of consensus is difficult."

"What if you can't decide?"

"Then we're held in session until we either reach an agreement or collapse from exhaustion."

"And I thought flying around a pitch at 100 miles an hour was hard work."

Suddenly, a piercing scream came from down the other end of the ballroom. Harry's head whipped towards the noise, as people started running towards us. There was a sharp crack, and several flashes of light.

I could hear hoarse yells as the ballroom erupted into chaos, and then felt a hand on my arm.

"Stay right here," said Harry, his jaw set.

"Like hell!" I replied, following as Harry ran towards the commotion.

A chandelier crashed to the floor, sending shards of glass scattering across the polished floor. Not pausing, Harry drew his wand and with a wave, the glass became fine grains of white sand.

Behind him, I could make out masked figures, clad in black, firing a barrage of curses into the crowded space. Screams rang in my ears as I looked at terror-stricken faces.

A voice boomed out over the ballroom as one of the masked attackers stood forward.

"Too long have you ruled here, pampered in your ivory towers, soft and lazy, weak, corrupt!"

The masked face turned to look around the room, and then stopped.

"Harry Potter. Surrender to-"

"Get fucked."

The masked man let out a yell, and fired a curse at Harry, who, with a sharp flick of his wand, dissipated the spell. His assailant, undeterred, raised his wand again, but Harry reached out his hand, fingers outstretched, and raised his wand with his other hand, speaking rapidly under his breath.

A cloudy blue shield began to appear, separating the party guests from the masked figures. It swelled rapidly to protect us.

"Coward! Are you afraid to duel me?"

The man launched a barrage of light at the shield, but it was merely absorbed into the blue wall.

"Bring it down!"

All the attackers began firing curses at the shield, and I watched as Harry strained to maintain his defence. A cascade of darkness was exploding against the flimsy blue light, but still Harry held, his teeth gritted.

There was a momentary lull as the attackers paused.

"You can't keep this up forever, Potter!"

"I don't have to."

Harry closed his outstretched hand into a fist, and the blue shield flickered for only a fraction of a second. With lightning speed, Harry thrust his wand forward with a shout.

A red torrent erupted from his wand, slamming into the unsuspecting wizard, and blasting him thirty feet across the room.

The other attackers were frozen in place, shocked by the ruthlessness of Harry's sudden assault. But Harry wasn't in a mood to be lenient.

With a violent flick of his wand, white lightning slammed into three more masked attackers, and sharp thrusts coupled with booming detonations lifted two more off their feet.

The final two attackers were levitated into the air with another swish of Harry's wand, and then flung into the wall. Both toppled limply to the floor in a heap.

There was a stunned silence, and then the assembled guests cheered.

Harry pressed his wand to his throat and amplified his voice.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is now an active crime scene. I ask that everyone remain calm and ensure that those around you are not injured."

He turned to me.

"Remember how to do a Restraint Charm?"

I nodded.

"Good, lend me a hand."

I drew my wand and we made short work of tying up the assailants.

Harry knelt, inspecting the face of one of the unconscious men.

"Do you know who they are?"

"No idea. But we'll find out," Harry replied, an edge in his voice.

Harry's Executive Assistant, with two others I recognised as Senior Aurors, ran over to us, fresh soot on their robes.

"Commander, we flooed over as soon as I found out," she said, her voice heavy.

"Here?"

"Not just here. Malfoy–"

"What's happened?"

"–Lucius Malfoy is dead."

"How?"

"Nazar. It's happened. He's invaded Azkaban."

* * *

A/N: Thanks again for your patience! As always, let me know what you think.


	16. The Fall of Azkaban: Khe Sanh

A/N: New chapter is here! Enjoy.

**XVII. The Fall of Azkaban Part One: Khe Sanh**

"Caution: being a Marine in Khe Sanh may be hazardous to your health."

– Newsweek (cit.)

* * *

My name is John Scott.

I am a Senior Hitwizard working for the MLE.

I enlisted a few years after the first war, and somehow survived the second. I am still a soldier in a war - a deadly conflict that has not finished yet. The public believes that we live in a time of peace, a lie from the Ministry propaganda machine that is spoon-fed to them by the _Prophet _and the _WWN_. However, my part in it all is coming to an end.

I am twenty-three days and a Distinguished Combat Service Award away from hanging up my boots and my holster for good. My commission is very nearly over.

And on that last day, I will shake the Minister's hand, and smile as a pretty nurse hands me my St Mungo's 'RESERVED' sign, before I gladly take a seat behind a desk, and direct younger men into battle.

I will not die here. I will escape these fields of slaughter.

I will not re-up for yet another commission like so many who become addicted to the firefight, the combat junkies who revel in the terrible things that magic can do.

I will not fall in love with war like the Auror Commander.

I will not fall in love with war like Harry Potter.

Harry Potter is like no combat wizard I have ever known. He is one of the finest duellists the Auror Office has ever seen.

If I survive, it will be thanks to this man.

His dedication to this fight is total. He does not rest in his relentless pursuit of darkness.

There is talk of him in the Department, how he has seen and done terrible things, and has a mastery of magic that is awesome to behold.

Yet there is talk that he is unstable, haunted by the spectre of his struggles, of what he has faced, of what he has endured.

The leaders of the Ministry treat him like a lightning bolt on a leash.

And so they should.

His first battle, the whole world knows about. It is a story for the history books, how the Boy-Who-Lived defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in the most epic struggle of our time.

The second is very hush-hush. A shadow war. Whispers of something called Operation Wrath of Merlin, covert assassinations across Europe, search and destroy missions against Voldemort's surviving followers, and a single-handed assault on a safehouse that left thirty-four dead. It is said that Wrath of Merlin gave birth to his terrible purpose.

The third: assigned to lead the Aurors, because what else is the Minister to do with a man drunk on combat who belongs nowhere but the battlefield?

But now the writing is on the wall. The forces of Dark Magic are on the run, their love of destruction and the arcane overridden by their fear of the living weapon who sits behind an oaken desk in the Auror Office. Time is beginning to take its toll on Harry's war. It's been two years since Voldemort's death, and even Harry is running out of targets. The day is coming when the Wizarding World will no longer call on Potter, and those like him, to exact terrible justice on those who threaten their peace.

Alas for Harry Potter. He is running out of war.

* * *

It's Hour Six.

Each Hitwizard Squadron does an eight hour rotation with two other squadrons, ensuring that in a twenty-four hour period, one squadron is always on standby and ready to respond to any threat.

Much of the time is spent practicing combat drills, or studying tactics.

But a lot of the time, we just wait.

A few of my men play a card game around a table. Sickles flow freely as they bet back and forth. Others read or nap.

But each is dressed in full combat gear, with dragon-hide armour, and robed in Nightcloaks.

These are strong, good men.

Hour Seven.

A few cook light meals. Others take chilled Butterbeers from the icebox. Anything stronger is expressly forbidden. Any Hitwizard found intoxicated whilst on duty can be charged for treasonous negligence.

I sip at my drink whilst reading a book, glancing as the minutes count down to Hour Eight.

And then we hear the unmistakable pealing bell, and as one, the room comes to attention.

Something, somewhere, has happened. And we are the first line of response.

The report comes in quickly: a group of probable Death Eaters have attacked a Ministry function hosted in Birmingham. But our squadron is not activated. The Auror Commander, along with several other Aurors, is attending the function.

The Death Eaters have walked into their own funeral.

We rest easy, returning to our tables and chairs.

But then the pealing bell rings once more.

Azkaban is under attack.

* * *

As my squadron approaches the island, I see a thick black plume of smoke rising from the fortress. The wards are down, but the fortress did not fall without a fight.

"Circle around," instructs the voice in my earpiece, and we fly a loop around the island, before landing on the far side.

"We'll go up the outside and breach through the top levels."

I take the All-Clinging Hook attached to my belt and use my wand to fire it into the battlements, as the other Hitwizards do the same. We make short work of scaling the bleak walls of the dreaded prison, and carefully break through a window on the administration level.

We quickly sweep the level, but find nothing. The wardens and MLE Squadrons stationed at the prison have seemingly disappeared into thin air.

"Downwards."

I take point, leading my team of five down the eastern corridor. Again, we find nothing.

"Clear."

After a few seconds, the voices of the three other teams report in:

"Clear."

"Clear."

"Clear. Regroup."

"Contact!" cries the voice in my ear. I recognise it as the team leader in the southern corridor.

"We have hostiles in retreat., heading west. They're going down. Pursue downwards."

I lead my team down several flights of stairs that separate the administration level from the prison population, at the bottom of which we meet the fifteen other Hitwizards. Together, we rush into a cavernous, open space. Balconies line the walls, with several levels of cellblocks. This is general population, the main prison wing. It is eerily quiet.

I get the feeling that somehow, we have been led into a trap.

And then we see him.

Nazar.

* * *

"Commander, I'm afraid we're going to have to cut your evening short."

"Of course," Harry replied. He gave Ginny's hand a squeeze, and unspoken words passed between them.

"Nazar's forces have already claimed much of the fortress. A Hitwizard Squadron is already inbound. They're placing a second Squadron on standby," reported Kara.

"Why would he break into Azkaban just to kill Lucius Malfoy?" Albion asked.

"He didn't," Harry answered. "He killed Lucius to send a message. Azkaban is the real prize."

"This attack was a distraction. They were never meant to be successful," Siobhan realised.

"They were just meant to delay me long enough," Harry replied.

"When did the Hitwizard Squadron leave?"

"Hang on," Kara replied, putting her hand to an earpiece. "I'm tapped in to the MLE line. They've just arrived on the island."

Harry ran a hand through his hair.

"We need to get back to London. I'm going to Azkaban."

* * *

The subject of the Auror Commander's obsession these last months, it is not difficult to see why everyone in the MLE knows his name.

Nazar _exudes_ darkness.

He is huge, taller and broader than any man I have ever seen. His forearms are covered in sinewy muscle and black tattoos. I recognise some as rune symbols.

His head is shaved, revealing a thin scar that runs diagonally across his skull and behind his ear. But I am drawn to his eyes, his black and pitiless eyes.

There is a terrifying intelligence in those eyes.

And now, with a score of wands pointed at him, he shows no fear. Only calm.

He is _indulging_ us.

His wand rests loosely at his side. Grasped in his huge hand, it is almost comically small.

"Good evening, gentlemen."

I look around the cavernous space. Nazar's men, who have appeared from seemingly nowhere, watch silently from the upper levels, their eyes on their leader.

"By order of the Wizengamot, you are under arrest. Surrender your wand," states Oliver Egerton, the commanding officer in charge of the squadron.

"No."

"You are up against twenty men. Don't be a fool," Egerton replies, in the clipped, authoritative tone I have heard from him so many times before.

"You are mice in the nest of an eagle," Nazar says. There is no fear in his voice.

"Fire!"

A barrage of Stunning Spells stream towards Nazar, who sweeps his hands apart, generating a shimmering blue shield that absorbs our combined attack.

"Hold fire!" Egerton shouts.

"I assume you are in direct communication with your superiors in London. What I have to say…I say to them," Nazar says, his voice filled with a sudden malice.

He takes a step forward, with the blue shield still in place.

"These men you have sent to stop me are going to die at my hands. Each and every single one of them. You will never see them again. But…you will not forget their screams of agony for as long as you live."

And then it begins.

Oliver Egerton is the first to die. I watch, transfixed, as white lightning, faster than any spell I have ever seen, erupts from Nazar's wand and leaves a crater in the chest of my commanding officer. With a sweep of his hand, five or six more are thrown across the room as he lets off a stream of Killing Curses.

He is indiscriminate in his fire, using a flurry of curses, twisting and parrying with surprising agility and grace as he fells my fellow Hitwizards left and right.

But Hitwizards are not so easily beaten. We train for the greatest horrors that the wizarding world can imagine.

And Nazar is still vastly outnumbered.

Our counterattack is textbook.

A barrage of firepower sweeps the room on three sides as we execute a pincer movement around the giant man. The blue shield contracts, flickering as it strains against the torrent of light thrown against it.

Immediately, we go for the jugular.

The Aurors are the only members of Magical Law Enforcement who are authorised to use the Killing Curse in combat. Such privileges do not extend to Hitwizards, who face immediate dismissal in such an event.

But right now, I don't give a flying fuck about a dishonourable discharge. I just want to survive.

I shout the six syllables and the jet of green light bursts forth from my wand. It bores through the blue shield, but misses its mark by scan inches.

Still, Nazar's own troops remain unmoved. I glance up and see only bemused expressions. I get the sickening feeling that this is somehow for their entertainment.

Nazar responds in kind, and two more Hitwizards fall.

The arena becomes a killing field as jets of deadly green shriek across it. Nazar hurls rubble in front of the curses, and chunks of rock explode, scattering debris to all corners.

Again, he employs white lightning, and even as I cast another curse at him, the lightning sears through the chest of the wizard standing next to me.

We retaliate with another coordinated barrage of Killing Curses, and although he ducks and weaves, throwing obstacles in our path, I get the feeling that it is only a matter of time before one of us gets lucky, that one jet will meet its mark, and that this terrible ordeal will be over.

And then it happens. The Hitwizard to my right, an awarded marksman, unleashes a bolt of green light that finds its target.

I see the light hit Nazar squarely in the chest. I watch as he grimaces in pain, giving a grunt as he absorbs the fatal strike. But his features do not assume the expressionless mask of a victim of the Killing Curse.

Nazar takes a Killing Curse to the chest and does not fall.

Instead, his eyes seek out the Hitwizard who landed the curse. Nazar reaches out a hand, and my comrade finds himself lifted ten feet into the air and then drawn in as Nazar generates a second blue shield.

The Hitwizard grapples with an invisible hand around his neck, but to no avail. Murmuring under his breath, Nazar makes a twisting gesture with his wand and the Hitwizard's robes fall from him.

And then, the soldier lets out an unearthly scream that chills me to the core.

I watch, horrified, as deep cuts run from his scalp and trail down his back, accompanied by weeping streams of blood. And then I realise.

_He is being skinned alive._

We hammer against the blue shield with every spell, every curse and incantation we know, but to no avail. Our efforts are futile.

Nazar barely registers our presence, seemingly maintaining the shield with no apparent effort.

And then, after what seems like an eternity, it is done. The husk of a man who shared a drink with me only hours earlier drops to the floor in a pool of his own blood.

Behind me, one of the Hitwizards retches.

Only seven of us remain.

I utter words I have never spoken.

"Fall back!"

Each of us carries an emergency Portkey, strapped to our chest. I tug the release pin, and wait for the swift jerk, but to my horror, the Portkey fails to activate. Around me, my fellow Hitwizards experience the same.

"I did not expect cowardice from a Hitwizard Squadron," Nazar remarks, his eyes hungry.

With desperation borne from crippling fear, we begin the battle anew.

A young Hitwizard, his eyes crazed by what he has seen, charges at the gigantic man, unleashing a barrage of curses.

"You motherfucker!"

Nazar parries, and counters each spell, and then, as the Hitwizard comes within reach, he strikes like a coiled viper.

Nazar drives his fist into the man's face with stunning ferocity, and the Hitwizard's face caves in with a sickening crunch. The single blow is fatal.

I realise that Nazar's wand is a mere formality. He could easily kill us with his bare hands.

In training, each Hitwizard must endure the Cruciatus Curse for a thirty second interval. Those who cannot – or will not – automatically fail the programme.

I will never forget those thirty seconds. I would not wish them upon any person.

But now, driven to the very edge, we do what we must.

"Cruciatus," I say through my earpiece, and then, pointing my wand at the hulking man, shout:

"Crucio!"

"Crucio!"

"Crucio!"

My remaining soldiers join their voices in chorus as we unleash a torture unimaginable, one I cannot adequately describe in words.

His shoulders heave as the six of us train the Cruciatus Curse on him. He drops to one knee. Veins flower out across his forehead as he wrestles with a searing agony that he surely cannot overcome.

But he does, with an almighty roar. Flecks of spittle fly from his mouth as he rises, breaking the combined curse. His hands shaking with superhuman effort, he reaches out, and a tongue of flame lashes violently at us.

I duck, but one of the last six is not so lucky to escape. The tongue of flame latches to his ankle, and twists like a snake up his leg and around his torso.

Nazar clenches his fist shut, and the coiled tongue of livid flame begins to squeeze. It melts through the man's flesh like a knife through butter.

And now there are five.

Driven by fear, driven by desperation, we fight to our last.

He dances with death as jets of coloured light streak across the room.

Another flash of lightning bursts from his wand.

Four.

The fight is close-quarters now. Nazar unleashes a spinning kick, his boot slamming into my ribcage. Winded and gasping for air, I land hard, sprawled across the room. Dizzy, I watch as he breaks a nose with a jab of his elbow, before grabbing the bloodied Hitwizard by his throat.

He lifts the struggling man into the air, and then drives him head first into the granite floor. The snap of a broken neck is unmistakable.

Three.

Nazar pauses to wipe blood from a cut above his forehead. A sheen of sweat covers his brow. Yet he makes this look so horrifyingly easy.

It happens too fast to see.

Two.

I fire a stream of curses, but he ducks and parries, countering each in turn with quick, sharp wand movements. A wave of magical energy floors me for a second time.

_My name is John Scott._

_My name is John Scott._

_I am a Senior Hitwizard working for the MLE._

_I enlisted a few years after the first war, and somehow survived the second._

_My name is John Scott._

With a start, I realise I am murmuring the words aloud.

_My name is John Scott._

A green flash illuminates my senses, and another one of my comrades falls.

One.

Bodies are strewn across the floor, wet and sticky with blood.

_My name is John Scott._

And I am the last man standing.

It is a simple curse, in the end. A blast of light punches a hole through the side of my neck, and I fall with a gasping cry.

My voice rattles and dies in my throat as blood rushes into my lungs.

Nazar stands over me as I take short, shallow breaths, my hand pressed against the wound spurting blood from my neck. Words, spoken far away, register in my earpiece:

_The Auror Commander is coming_, the voice says.

_The Auror Commander is coming to save you._

The Auror Commander will be too late. Too late to save me and my fallen men.

It is a funny thing, that this is my last thought…

Harry Potter has cause to _celebrate_.

For he will have his war.

* * *

A/N: Hope you liked it. Please take a moment to review!


	17. The Fall of Azkaban: The Initiated

A/N: You've had to be bloody patient at times - so here's a quick update! This chapter is not particularly pleasant - so I don't expect you to enjoy it - but I would appreciate you offering me your thoughtful review.

**XVII. The Fall of Azkaban Part Two: The Initiated**

"O dark dark dark. They all go into the dark,  
The vacant interstellar spaces, the vacant into the vacant,  
The captains, merchant bankers, eminent men of letters,  
The generous patrons of art, the statesmen and the rulers,  
Distinguished civil servants, chairmen of many committees,  
Industrial lords and petty contractors, all go into the dark."

– T.S. Eliot

* * *

_Nazar_

He is young, but there is a timelessness in his eyes.

"Nazar."

"I fear you have made a grave mistake in coming here, Commander," I reply.

The Auror Commander smirks with an easy confidence.

"I don't think so."

"Your arrogance is your enemy. It blinds you," I admonish. He is young, and there is so much he has yet to learn.

"We'll see."

I glance at Golan, and he nods in acknowledgement.

"KILL HIM!" cries my lieutenant, and a score of men pour from the upper levels onto the cavern floor, slick with the blood of Hitwizards.

The young Commander wastes no time.

Two of my men are dead before their feet hit the cavern floor. Another disintegrates into dust before my eyes.

He has not yet drawn his wand.

A flurry of curses stream towards him as my soldiers establish a foothold. He deflects and parries with the mere brush of his hand.

I have seen skill like that before.

He reaches out a hand and an inky black wave blasts several of my men off their feet. I know that it is lethal.

Yet he is still vastly outnumbered, and surely, it is only a matter of time before –

"_Imperio."_

Without another word, the soldiers surrounding him collectively point their wands at their own throats.

"_Imperio."_

A series of green flashes illuminate the cavern.

"Enough," he says.

It is an impressive show of force.

I gesture, and my remaining forces pull back. This is not their fight.

* * *

He believes himself to be unbeatable.

He does not expect to lose this day.

Neither do I.

My eyes meet his, searching, assessing, looking for a weakness. We are two apex predators in a world where everything is prey.

"What happens, Commander, when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?"

"Enough talk."

He releases the constraints he holds upon his magical energy, and I must admit, I am surprised.

His is truly a power to rival the Dark Lord's.

I set myself in a defensive stance, and wait. He goes on the offensive immediately, launching a stream of curses that I parry and block in turn. He is testing me, and we both know it.

I return a volley of spells that shriek towards him. He makes short work of the assault, however, brushing the curses away with seemingly little effort.

"I'm not here to fuck around."

White lightning bursts from his wand, and now, _now_ we have a battle worthy of our talent.

With a sweeping motion, I counter his lightning blast with my own. Deadly magical energy surges through the cavern. Shards of pure white light erupt in the space around us as our lightning bolts collide. My men on the upper levels draw back. The lightning will eviscerate anything it touches.

It is time for the young Commander to learn a harsh truth.

"The ability to manifest pure magical energy into lightning is one that few wizards possess," I intone. "Only the best can do it, Commander. Only those with the knowledge and the strength. Only the initiated."

"Do you really think that you are the only person to ever delve deep into the Department of Mysteries?" I continue.

"I too, was a student of the man you knew as X, Commander. I know every spell, every curse. I know what he taught you."

"He never spoke of you," Harry replies, his face set in a bleak mask. It is impossible to know what he is thinking - another skill he has learned from the Department of Mysteries.

"And he wouldn't. I was his greatest shame. I was a double agent, working with Augustus Rookwood, long before I became what I am today. X hated what I became. For whether he liked it or not, I was his greatest triumph."

The battle begins anew, and to the untrained eye, the ferocity of the Commander's attack has not changed.

But there is a subtle change. He is more careful, more considered in his approach.

Each strike, each curse, is designed to test me, to draw me out, and expose a weakness.

Little does the Commander know.

I have no weakness.

And now, I respond in kind, with probing curses, each parried and countered.

He is difficult to read, constantly changing the rhythm and cadence of his magic.

I can't begin to imagine how challenging a lesser opponent would find him.

I launch a wave of inky darkness, and it hits him squarely in the chest. He is driven back several paces by the force of the spell, but does not fall.

I pause. By rights, the Auror Commander should not be standing.

"There's a prophecy."

"Made by the Spanish Seers. I am aware."

"And you know what it says?"

"Yes. My reach, Commander, is nearly as long as yours."

"It tells of a reckoning, between myself and a new Dark Lord."

"And you wonder, am I the new Dark Lord?"

"The thought crossed my mind."

"The answer, Commander, is no. I do not believe myself to be the new Dark Lord. I was merely a servant."

"One of the seven agents? Like V was."

I am tiring of his questioning. But it is only inconsequential information, after all. Knowledge is power, but not all knowledge is powerful.

"That, I am. And now, the last."

His forehead creases into a frown, then I see his sudden realisation.

"Malfoy."

"You are perceptive."

"Lucius Malfoy was the other living agent. Why did you kill him?"

"I will be frank with you, Commander. I bear no allegiance to Tom Riddle. I harbour no desire to bring him back from the dead, no desire to dedicate my efforts to an impossible end. I served him so that I might serve myself. Malfoy still had support - some loyalties are too easily bought - which is why he needed to die."

"To swing his supporters to you."

"Indeed."

"Why?"

"It is simple, Commander. I want Europe."

I pause. Little does he know, my agents are in position - in Paris, in Berlin, in Rome, in Moscow - awaiting my command. I continue:

"I never understood Riddle's infatuation with Magical Britain. An island! When he could have commanded a continent!"

"There's a Muggle who once wanted all of Europe," he replies. "It didn't work out for him."

"I am no Muggle."

He answers with a smirk.

"No. You're a glorified insurance policy."

I will rip his glib tongue from his throat.

I bring my wand up, too slowly. He anticipates it, and takes the offensive.

The Commander strikes with a series of violent curses, vivid purple lights that streak through the air with a howl, exploding through rock on impact. He follows with a series of hexes that blast from his wand like the _rat-a-tat_ of a machine gun, strafing across the cavern with lethal intent.

I parry and counter, driven back several paces as he presses his offensive.

It is not easy for me to admit, but he is too fast.

I need a new tactic. Spreading my arms wide in a sweeping motion, I draw a complex pattern in the air with my wand.

"_Inferia."_

The corpses of Hitwizards intermingle with those of my own slain men as they reanimate, the living dead to do my bidding.

It is the stuff of nightmares to ordinary men.

But the Commander is unperturbed.

"Is that it?" he asks derisively, and points his wand high.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

A flood of blinding white light sweeps the cavern, accompanied by a livid roaring flame that shreds through the ranks of my Inferi with a shriek.

The rumours are true. His is no ordinary Patronus.

* * *

This one comes with Fiendfyre.

I begin chanting, weaving a web of dread magic around my body. Liquid darkness covers me entirely as the torrent of Fiendfyre rushes around the cavern. The effort is draining, but I know that controlling the Fiendfyre will be equally so.

I must outlast him.

Heavyweight prizefights are not sprints, but marathons.

The acrid smoke clears and the flames dies away as my undead crumble into ash.

I sense the Commander, watching. Waiting.

And then he strikes, impossibly quickly.

"_Crucio!"_

I fall to my knees.

Searing pain screams through every nerve. My chest heaves in agony. The blood vessels in my nose burst, and a stream of blood rushes down my face. His Cruciatus is fuelled by a darkness few men possess.

But ultimately, it will not be enough.

With every word, my jaw feels as if it is breaking. My teeth rattle in my mouth.

"You…will…need more than…that, Commander…_CRUCIO!"_

He too, collapses, a hand clutched to his stomach as he cries out in guttural pain. But he does not relinquish his curse.

We will torture each other to death - or worse.

It is madness, I think, as we writhe about on the ground.

And then the pain disappears.

He has stopped his Cruciatus, but my wand is still trained on him.

He gets to his feet, arms and legs trembling with the effort as my own Cruciatus continues to take its toll.

This defies belief. How…

"Crucio! CRUCIO!" I yell.

He lifts his wand.

This is it.

"_IMPERIO!"_

The Cruciatus curse dies in my throat.

"_IMPERIO!"_

And now, the war we fight is invisible. My mind reels against his assault. Every nerve screams as his magic compels mine.

But the Imperius Curse is founded upon strength of will.

And his will is indomitable.

I watch helplessly as my wand moves inexorably closer and closer, until the tip rests against my throat.

There is no escape.

"You have murdered hundreds of innocents. You're an animal, Nazar. And you need to be put down."

One of my men, ever faithful, rushes at him with a battle cry.

"In the name of Merlin and Barden's Justice, the twin Guardians in the North, I, Harry Potter –"

The Commander extends his hand out in a claw and sharply twists his wrist. My soldier collapses with a broken neck.

"– under the power granted to the Auror Commander by the First Laws, hereby sentence you to die."

I steel myself, waiting for the impact.

He twists his wand with a shout:

"DO IT!"

I speak the words.

"_Avada Kedavra."_

The green light hits me with the force of a freighter train, shredding through every nerve. I collapse to the ground.

The world grows dim, and my eyesight becomes blurred as the Killing Curse strips my life away.

My heart stops beating.

And then…

* * *

_Dum-dum. Dum-dum._

It starts again.

I lift my head, and draw myself back to my feet, ignoring the thin trickle of blood still running from my face.

There is no mask now. The disbelief in his voice is plain to see.

"_No fucking way."_

I hawk and spit blood from my mouth.

"Do you really think you're the only one who can make a deal with Death?"

"How?"

"I am a Necromancer."

"You are an abomination."

A livid anger burns behind his eyes.

"Do not be so quick to judge, Commander. I studied the Dark Arts under Riddle's tutelage. He sought immortality, and he valued my craft. He showed me the secret of the Horcruxes."

"But you don't have them yourself?" he asks astutely.

"No."

"Then how did you cheat the Killing Curse?"

"I have a ledger, Commander. A blood debt. Repaid through a Ritual of Life."

"That's a nice way of saying you skin people alive."

"And for every Ritual I complete –"

"– you gain a life."

"In a manner of speaking."

The Commander has his share of flaws, but stupidity is not one of them. He has studied in the Department of Mysteries. And now, I watch as he tries to comprehend just how he can stop me.

He will reach the same conclusion as the rest.

I cannot be stopped.

And so, with sickening realisation, he begins the fight anew.

Flashes of light illuminate the cavern as he curses and counter-curses, searching for a weakness, trying to find a way, anything…

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

He fires a machine-gun stream of Killing Curses that would slaughter ordinary men like wheat before the scythe.

I absorb each blow, drawing on my reserves of strength as the green light finds its mark.

His efforts prove fruitless. His frustration is amusing.

He draws a long breath.

"That ledger of yours. How many?"

"_Thousands."_

Shock becomes rage. His eyes widen, and he presses the attack anew. I barely escape a curse that hews a trail of rock from the cavern walls.

Again, we begin the dance, but he is less focused, more unstable as our curses fly. He does not register that I have been moving ever closer to him, inch by inch. But soon…

Two jets of red light hit me squarely in the chest, leaving smoking holes. Another curse lets off a pistol-whip crack as it shatters my rib. A blast of white lightning leaves a jagged cut along my cheek, but it is a necessary sacrifice.

For in this moment, it ends.

Enhanced by dark magic, my massive fist connects with his face. His jaw shatters.

He staggers back, knocked dizzy by the blow. Blood pours from his mouth.

He lifts his wand, but his lethal speed is gone.

I grab his wrist and and snap it with a swift twist. He drops his wand as I grab him by the throat and lift him high into the air.

"I will _break_ you, Mr Potter."

With a roar I slam him head-first into the rocky ground. Only the magic prevents his neck from snapping.

I duck and parry the blast of lightning he shoots at me wandlessly. My booted heel flattens his nose with a _crunch. _With another punch, I smash his thin spectacles into shards.

I grab a fistful of his hair and fling his body against the wall, as easily as a child might throw a rag doll.

"Tell me Commander, how did you envisage this ending?"

Another kick breaks three ribs. I blast bursts of darkness into his prone form as he struggles to rise.

His limbs tremble with effort as he tries to pull himself to his feet.

It is pitiful.

He raises his head, and shoots a jet of Fiendfyre from his mouth. Dragonbreath. I dispel it with a tongue of blue flame. He no longer has the power to sustain it.

With a flick of my wand, I shatter the bones in his arms and legs. With another vicious stab I destroy his kneecaps.

The Imperius Curse cost him his strength.

His hubris cost him this fight.

This is over.

* * *

I pick his limp body up and hoist him over my head.

"TELL ME!"

With another _crunch_, I throw him to the floor.

Just as a feline toys with the timid mouse.

I pick up my wand, and make a deep incision from his neck down the middle of his back.

His robes are slick with blood.

I plunge my hands into the open wound and wrap my fingers around his spine.

It snaps like a twig.

His cry is savage, that of a great beast, but then it rattles and dies in his throat.

"No? Is that your answer?"

I blast pure darkness into his broken body, the lethal black magic of a Necromancer.

Weeping sores appear over his skin as the virus takes hold. I grab the front of his robes and hoist him into the air once again.

"Another question then. Are you ready to die?"

He spits blood in my face.

"Fuck you."

I give him the hint of a smirk, and stick my wand into his ear.

"_Crucio." _

His legs kick violently, as if he is dangling on the hangman's noose. His entire body shudders is agony as mottled veins spread across his face.

"_Ginny…Ginny…"_

He is pathetic.

"_Crucio!"_

He screams, an ear-splitting shriek that echoes through the cavern. I grin as I smell the unmistakable scent of urine.

"_Crucio!"_

His body contorts, gruesomely, and spasms. Unimaginable pressure builds in his head. Two, three, four, five teeth fall from his mouth as his gums rupture. With a squelching _pop_, his left eye bursts in its socket.

Little remains of his famous face, once strewn across posters - the most wanted man in the magical world.

His jaw hangs slack. Most of his teeth are missing. His nose is flattened. One eye is gone. Two deep cuts run through the other. And everywhere, there is blood.

I release my hold and he drops to the floor in a broken heap. Using my wand as a whip, a Flaying Curse tears strips of flesh and skin from his frame. His proud robes hang from him like limp rags, wet with blood.

I am not merely defeating him.

I am not merely embarrassing him.

I am _ending_ him. I am ending the legend.

In years to come, men will speak with scant whisper of this day.

I shock his body with white lightning, once, twice, a third time. His heart is still beating, barely.

His head lifts a scant inch.

And then, he speaks. Choking through blood, his voice raspy, he _begs_:

"_Finish it."_

"Goodbye, Harry Potter."

I pry his mouth open and with a vicious flick of my wand, cut his tongue clean out.

"You were challenging. For a time."

It is the highest praise I have ever given. I am almost regretful to take his life.

But this has become _boring. _I have much more to do.

I point my wand at the broken body lying prone on the floor.

"_AVADA…"_

* * *

A/N: Next chapter should be up soon.


	18. The Necromancer

A/N: I've got a little free time at the moment, which is why this is up so soon. I've enjoyed reading your thoughts and theories on the last couple of chapters, and I can't wait to share more of it with you all. Enjoy.

**XVIII. The Necromancer **

"Why do you quote laws to us? We, who carry swords."

– Pompey

* * *

Kingsley addressed the group standing in his office with a sombre expression.

"Reinstate _dar-jach_. I'm declaring an official state of emergency and martial law. Everything runs through National Security from here on out."

He paused.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am going to say this just once: we are at war once again."

The Minister turned to Siobhan O'Reilly.

"Siobhan?"

"Sir?"

"I'm appointing you as the Auror Commander."

"Minister, I don't-"

"I need a Commander."

She swallowed and gave him a resolute look.

"Yes sir."

Kingsley took a sheet of parchment from his desk draw, and tapped it with his wand. Inky lines emerged from the wand tip, quickly forming a written contract. He handed Siobhan a quill.

"Sign here please."

She did, and the contract gave a golden glow.

"Do you swear to serve the magical peoples of Wizarding Britain, to lead and guide them, and from dissension, corruption, and darkness guard them so long as you draw breath?"

"I swear."

"Then rise, Siobhan O'Reilly, as the Auror Commander."

* * *

_London, 1974_

"Hold out your hands."

The surly young man did as ordered, and the Auror removed his shackled wrists with the tap of his wand.

"What do I call you?" asked the Auror, his voice echoing in the small windowless room. It had a faint musty smell one associated with being underground.

"Solomon."

"Alright, Solomon. I understand you were arrested in Knockturn Alley by the Squad officers this morning for soliciting forbidden texts."

The young man replied in halting English.

"I, ah, did not know they were, ah banned!"

The Auror held up a placating hand.

"Do you know the content of what you were searching for?"

"No, no."

The Auror scanned his eyes over a piece of parchment.

"Solomon, from your booking report, you arrived here from Spain three months ago. Why are you in London?"

"I came to learn."

"Okay."

The Auror set a small red briefcase on the table and unlatched it with a brief incantation. From it he pulled a small vial of liquid.

"Solomon, I have a number of questions to ask you, and I would like you to submit to Veritaserum. Do you know what it is?"

"The Truth potion?"

"Yes. It will compel you to tell the truth as you believe it. If your answers are satisfactory, you will be permitted to leave unhindered, with all charges dropped. If you do not submit to questioning by Veritaserum, I will add an additional charge of obstruction of justice, and you will be sent to Barden's Keep to await trial."

"Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes. I will take the potion."

"Excellent."

The door to the room opened and another man in red robes entered.

"This is one of my colleagues. He will witness the questioning today."

The first Auror stood and made his way around to where Solomon sat.

"Look up and open your mouth."

The young man did as ordered, and the Auror poured three drops of colourless liquid into his mouth.

"Where are we?"

"The Ministry of Magic."

"Why were you arrested this morning?"

"I was looking for a book."

"Did you know the book was banned?"

"No."

The two Aurors exchanged a look.

"Who have you discussed this book with?"

"A shopkeeper at Borgin and Burkes, and another at Moribunds."

"What did they say?"

"Neither of them had heard of it. The man at Borgin and Burkes suggested he could source it for a fee."

"No surprise there," muttered the second Auror.

"I have one last question, Solomon."

The Auror paused and cleared his throat.

"Have you ever heard of a wizard who calls himself Lord Voldemort?"

* * *

"I don't like this, Rookwood."

Augustus Rookwood paused in the corridor, not bothering to hide his irritation at the Auror.

"So you've told me…three times now."

"Why do Mysteries want to hire this kid?"

"He has a keen interest, and he's foreign-educated. Hogwarts under Dumbledore has produced an alarming lack of graduates with the requisite skills we're looking for."

"You mean Dumbledore doesn't like teaching his kids the arcane shit your lot get hard for."

Rookwood smirked.

"Interest in the Dark Arts is not a crime, Johnson. And anyway, this conversation is irrelevant. I'm told that the young man in question is coming in to sign his contract today. He starts next week."

"Unless I get an injunction from the Auror Commander."

"And I'll get one from Lucius Malfoy. This is Mysteries business, Johnson. I would suggest you - and the Commander - stay out of it."

* * *

_1975_

"Solomon, please, take a seat," said the Unspeakable.

Solomon did so, unsure of why he had been summoned. The Unspeakable was several levels of classified above his own clearance, and would not typically associate with anyone beneath him.

"I understand your studies are progressing nicely,"

"The study of Death suits me, it seems," Solomon answered.

The man's expression grew sombre.

"Indeed, and that's why I've called you in today."

He cleared his throat.

"Late last week you revealed to two of your colleagues that you are a born Necromancer. Solomon, you understand why this makes people fearful. Even in the Department of Mysteries, your ability makes many uneasy."

"I don't understand, I–"

"The Ministry for Magic has endorsed the systemic purge of Necromancers on four separate occasions: in 1866, 1893, 1919, and 1955. Even today, the Aurors have standing orders to apprehend suspected Necromancers on sight, dead or alive," the Unspeakable added. "And just last year the Wizengamot reaffirmed their decision to exclude the Necromancy genome from the Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans."

The young man sat silently.

"I am sorry, Solomon. Your supervisors spoke well of you. They said that you were a hard worker and an avid researcher. Unfortunately, with the political climate being what it is, we can't keep you on. I'm afraid I must ask for your resignation."

* * *

"Are you fucking kidding me? Are you seriously, fucking, kidding me!" shouted Rookwood, punctuating each word as he berated the unfortunate target of his wrath. "You let a fucking Necromancer go. A Necromancer - the rarest fucking talent in the magical world - walked right out through this fucking door!"

The Unspeakable cowered under his glowering contempt.

"We wiped them out for a reason, Augustus, I hardly think–"

"No, you don't fucking think at all! Now I've got to spend Merlin knows how much time and money to find him!"

Rookwood paused, and exhaled, trying to calm himself.

To no avail.

"FUCK!"

* * *

_1976_

"Mind if I sit?" asked the man, not bothering to wait for an answer.

Solomon gave him a shrug, and turned back to his drink.

The man shrugged off his cloak and caught the attention of the barkeep.

"Odgen's, dry."

"Coming up."

The stranger slid a few Sickles across the bar.

"Keep my friend here topped up too."

The barkeep handed the man a glass of Firewhiskey and swept up the coins.

"Do I know you?" Solomon asked.

"No. You don't know me, Solomon, but I've been watching you quite closely these last several months. Ever since you got arrested that day in Knockturn Alley."

"Who are you?" Solomon asked, raising his gaze from his drink.

The man's eyes gleamed with an unsettling satisfaction.

"It doesn't matter who I am, Solomon. What matters is what I can offer you," he replied in a low tone.

"I'm listening."

"I work for the Department of Mysteries."

"So did I, once. Fuck off."

The stranger held up his hand in a placating gesture.

"I am sorry, Solomon. I am, of course, well aware of what transpired. Very unfortunate, really. I want you to know that the people responsible for your termination have been disciplined. Severely."

A surge of sudden gratification shot through the young man.

"You see, Solomon, what I want to offer you is an opportunity. There are some who view your unique gifts with distaste."

The man's eyes flashed with a sudden anger.

"These are small people, you must see that! With petty ideas - devoid of imagination! They have no creativity, no vision! They don't know what you're capable of, Solomon."

The man paused, exhaling slowly, as if recollecting his thoughts. He took another sip of his drink and continued.

"But I do. I see incredible potential for you, Solomon. I work for a division within the Department of Mysteries that prizes the extraordinary. It treasures the unique gifts and talents that few of us possess."

Solomon paused. Some gut instinct was telling him that this stranger was wrong, that this offer was too good to be true.

"I don't know."

"You would live and work within the Department, in total secret. Meals, lodgings - all accommodated for."

"What would I do?"

"We would train you. As a special agent. An intelligence officer. A fighter. A true Unspeakable."

"It sounds too good to be real."

"Rest assured, it is very real."

"I have a question."

"Name it."

"Who are you?"

The man paused, and then replied.

"My name is Augustus Rookwood. I work for the government."

Solomon got the distinct impression that Rookwood would not take kindly to any further questions about himself or his job. Instead, he just gave the Unspeakable a mute nod.

Rookwood downed his drink, and held out his hand.

"So, Solomon. Tell me. Do you want to waste away in this fucking dump or do you want to come with me and change the world?"

* * *

"I want to introduce you to the Paranormal Operations Division."

A man in simple robes strode forward to meet them.

"My name is X," he said shaking Solomon's hand.

"Is that it?"

X smirked, and Solomon had the impression that behind the thin pair of spectacles was a man entirely at ease.

"My real name is classified."

"I have a question for you, Solomon."

"Yes?"

"Are you ready?"

* * *

"Get your arse off the floor, you fuck!" X roared.

Solomon shakily rose to his feet, and resumed a fighting stance.

X levelled him again with a simple flick of his wand.

"Where is your anger?"

A jab of X's wand sent Solomon tumbling across the floor.

"Where is your rage?"

An livid blast of darkness tore through the young man like a knife.

"TELL ME!"

Solomon fired a series of desperate hexes at the Unspeakable, who casually swept them aside with his hand.

"_Crucio."_

Fiery agony shot through the young wizard's every nerve. His wand clattered to the floor as he clutched his hands to his stomach.

"Pathetic."

Soft footsteps stalked away as Solomon lapsed out of consciousness.

* * *

"He's no good," X said.

"Give him time," Rookwood placated.

"I have. He doesn't have what it'll take."

"Don't be vague, X."

"He doesn't have the _fire_, Rookwood. There's no anger."

"No. It will come with time."

"All he has is resentment!"

"He has something more."

X paused, holding his colleagues gaze.

"Enough games, Augustus. What is it?"

"He is a Necromancer."

"You're fucking kidding."

"Not at all. He's the genuine article."

"How on earth did you find him? I thought they'd all been exterminated."

"Most of them. Not all. From what I've been able to gather, his parents were executed in the last purge in the fifties. They went on the run, and when the Aurors closed in, they hid the child in a small village outside Barcelona. After they'd gotten assurances he would be provided for, they went to a local cemetery."

"Fuck," X said, exhaling.

"Can you imagine? Two Necromancers with a near-endless supply of ammunition. It took three days to defeat them. The father was _KIA_. They managed through some miracle to take the mother alive, and then they _crucified_ her."

Rockwood paused, downing the rest of his drink.

"And we have the gall to call _them_ the monsters."

* * *

X met Solomon's gaze, wordlessly assessing him.

"So. This is why you're part of the club. A Necromancer."

"That's right."

"Fine. Assume a duelling stance."

Solomon did, and X mirrored him.

"Do you know what you're doing?"

"Yes."

"Don't hold back."

Solomon began chanting under his breath, drawing a complex series of patterns in the air with his wand.

A high-pitched shriek filled the air as shadowy figures burst forth from his wand. Thin spindly limbs shrouded in milky darkness lumbered towards X, growing stronger and surer with each step.

X fired a battery of spells at the dark figures, with no effect. A blasting curse blew a fist-sized hole through one, but it faltered only momentarily. A bright blue shield proved no hinderance as the figures walked right through it.

"_Expecto Patronum!"_

A shining horned owl burst from X's wand, and charged at the shadowy figures. It struck with talons bared, but to no avail. The dark horde lunged at the ethereal creature, dragging it to the ground, and tore it apart.

"A Patronus cannot defeat them. They are impervious," Solomon said, gesturing with his hands as the figures turned their attention towards X again.

The Unspeakable brought his wand around in a sweeping arc, and cast a livid torrent of flame that swept through the room with a roar. X gave a yell as he poured supercharged heat into the vicious inferno, eviscerating the horde of shadows. The fire combusted upon impact, creating a shockwave that sent Solomon sprawling.

When the smoke and haze cleared, Solomon peered up to see X standing over him.

"Everything burns, Solomon."

* * *

_1977_

"His turnaround has been surprising. In the last three months, his skill has developed exponentially."

X paused, sipping his coffee.

"I'll admit it. It took a while, but he's a good find."

"Excellent," Rookwood drawled.

"When will he be ready for field work?"

"He already is."

"Good. Assign him to a team. Let's see what he can do."

* * *

_Room 106. _

This was it. Solomon paused and opened the door.

There was a simple rule in the Department of Mysteries. If a door opened for you, you were welcome. If it didn't, you weren't.

He entered to find a small, sparsely furnished briefing room, with three occupants.

The first had a short crop of blond hair and a bushy beard. A thin scar ran from his eyebrow to behind his ear.

Skoden Greyback. Werewolf.

The second was tall and thin, with high, haughty eyes. Black curls framed a pale face.

Ricardo Fellini. Vampire.

The third had gleaming amber eyes, and tousled red hair, tied in a messy bun. Unlike the other two, she wore Muggle attire.

Amelia Kane. Unregistered Animagus.

Solomon greeted them by way of a curt nod and took a seat.

A few moments later, another woman entered. Solomon found himself staring - she was the most sensual woman he'd ever seen. Her red lips rested in a pout, and her blonde hair was swept behind her shoulder, just exposing the nape of her neck. A low-cut black dress clung to her body, leaving little to the imagination. Her eyes locked onto his.

"Like what you see, boy?"

Solomon was taken back. Her voice was a deep throaty growl - unmistakably that of a man.

The redhead woman let out a barking laugh.

"Enough, Jiro."

X had entered.

"I see you've all met."

"Vampire. Werewolf. Metamorphmagus. Animagus," he said, then rested his eyes on me. "Necromancer."

"If any of you have any grievances with this little arrangement, I suggest you let them go," he added, with a tone of finality.

His eyes scanned the room, as if daring anyone to object. No one did.

"Good. Your training begins tomorrow."

"We're already trained," Skoden protested.

"Not as a team you're not," X replied. "I want you all to understand this: your life depends on the strength of your team. We begin at 0800."

He left us without another word.

"He's having a fucking laugh!" Skoden said angrily.

"Don't act like you have a choice, Greyback," said Amelia derisively, looking around the room. "Let me guess: you've all been rejected, cast out, or imprisoned. All because we can do shit others can't. Am I right? This is it for us. This is what we get. We're part of Paranormal Ops because it's the only option we've got."

A chorus of begrudging assent came from the occupants of the room.

Ricardo, the vampire, spoke up.

"You, Necromancer. What do we call you?"

"Solomon."

* * *

_1978_

Solomon took off his boots, and sat down on his bed, massaging the ache out of his shoulder. The curse, suffered several days ago, had only been a glancing blow, but it was still a sharp pain nonetheless.

Of course, the constant array of injuries came with the territory.

Six months of clandestine missions for the Department of Mysteries had taken their toll. But he was all the better for it - stronger, faster, deadlier. And his strike team of misfits were Augustus Rookwood's first port of call when a job needed to be done.

And there it was again - the sudden pealing bell that called general quarters. Not bothering to put his boots back on, Solomon left his room and made his way to the same briefing room he'd met his team so long ago.

When he entered, X had just begun talking.

"This is your next mission."

He handed a dossier of parchment to Skoden.

"This is the Order of the Phoenix, a secret vigilante organisation who oppose the pureblood movement. We have reason to believe that the members of this organisation seek to kidnap Narcissa Malfoy, the wife of Lucius Malfoy. They believe he is a part of the pureblood movement - perhaps even a Death Eater."

"Is he?" Skoden asked.

"From what I understand, he has made assurances to the Minister that whilst he is sympathetic to some of their goals, he is not a member. His allegiance is to the Ministry. But we digress."

"We believe an attack is imminent. You will stake out Malfoy Manor starting at 2200 tonight and prevent any assailants from reaching the house."

"Isn't this the sort of shit the Aurors are for?"

"They're stretched - which is Ministry talk for 'what the MLE doesn't know won't hurt them," he replied. "That's all. Suit up."

* * *

A jet of green light shot overhead as Solomon ran for his life.

"Where's Jiro?" he shouted.

"He's gone!" exclaimed Ricardo, sprinting beside him.

They were the last words Solomon would ever hear him say. A white burst of light hit the vampire, flooring him, as an Auror materialised, standing over him with a battle-axe.

Still in mid-sprint, Solomon whirled around to see the Auror cleave Ricardo's skull in two. He reacted without a second thought.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

The Auror died with his hands still clinging to his axe.

_Boom. Boom._

Explosions rumbled in the distance as more curses screamed overhead.

Between Solomon's team, the Order of the Phoenix, the MLE, and the Death Eaters, all hell had broken loose.

A crash tackle took Solomon off his feet as a stream of red jets blasted the air around him. It was Skoden.

"Don't fucking stand there, we've got to get out! This is fucked!" he shouted, dragging Solomon to his feet as Amelia joined them.

"We can't Apparate. Or Portkey. The wards!" she shouted, parrying a curse, and retaliating with a burst of white lightning that shredded through two Order members.

"Make a run for it," Solomon said. "The wards can't extend more than a mile."

A green light shot across their flank, followed by another, and a third, scant inches from Solomon's face.

More Aurors had arrived, and they were not in a mood to be lenient.

Skoden leapt at them with a roar.

One of the Aurors flung a handful of Sickles into the air, and with a sharp jab of his wand, fired them at Skoden with bullet-like speed. Before he could react, the flurry of coins punched right through the werewolf's torso with a spray of blood. He collapsed with his dying breath in his throat.

Amelia and Solomon launched a series of curses, forcing the Aurors into cover as the firefight began anew.

Half a dozen Death Eaters had appeared and were attacking the Aurors with little luck - three dropped dead within seconds, and a fourth was blasted off his feet.

Solomon unleashed a wave of darkness in the direction of the Aurors, as more Death Eaters entered the fray. From an upstairs balcony, several members of the Order were pressing the attack, launching sniping curses indiscriminately at the Death Eaters.

It was chaos.

Suddenly, there was a blinding flash of white light, accompanied by a _crack _that punctuated the air.

And then, the world stood still.

Simple blue robes matched icy blue eyes and a grey beard flecked with white. Thin spectacles sat on his weathered face. And he exuded power and grace like no one Solomon had ever seen.

Albus Dumbledore duelled with deadly purpose, stunning three of the Death Eaters in one fluid movement. Another was thrown to the floor with the wave of his hand. He extinguished a curse with a clenched fist, and retaliated with a blast of white lightning.

The Order members began to retreat behind shield charms, backing away from the firefight. From cover, Solomon watched, transfixed, as Dumbledore continued his vicious assault on the Death Eaters.

"Get out of here!" Amelia shouted at him, and transformed into a red fox. She scampered away into the night.

An explosion rocked the courtyard, throwing several figures through the air. There was another blinding flash, and then _crack, crack, crack. _The anti-apparition ward was down. Turning on his heel, Solomon fled.

* * *

"We were never meant to be there! This was a complete clusterfuck!" Amelia yelled.

"Stand down!" X barked.

"Why are we fighting the Ministry? I thought _we_ were the Ministry!" she yelled back, ignoring his order. "No one said the Aurors would be there, not to mention _Albus fucking Dumbledore_!"

"Kane, stand down!" X roared at her.

The Animagus closed her mouth, holding back a burning anger.

"I don't know what the fuck happened," X admitted. "I'm just giving you the orders I'm told to give."

Rookwood entered, holding up a hand in a placating gesture.

"Please. The fault was mine," he admitted.

"I know you're hurting. You've just lost most of your team. And I know you don't understand why or what for. Let me explain. The Ministry has become rotten from the inside. It is now the belief of the Department of Mysteries that we need to purge the corruption."

He paused, meeting Solomon's gaze.

"War is messy and brutal. Sometimes those you think are allies are most assuredly not. This extends to the MLE."

Rookwood looked to the two remaining members of his team.

"Now, I'm taking you both off active duty whilst you recuperate. I suggest you both visit the Healers and then get some rest."

He left without another word.

* * *

Augustus looked up to see Solomon standing in the doorway to his office.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Yes.

"Take a seat," he said with a gesture.

Rookwood kept his gaze fixed on the young man as he sat.

"Talk to me."

"I am done, sir. I can't fight this war you speak of," Solomon said haltingly. "I don't know who we're fighting anymore. Or for what. We just killed _Aurors_. What are we doing?"

"Do not be naive, Solomon! The Auror with the axe you killed last night - his name was Johnson. When you were first hired by the Department of Mysteries, he opposed you joining! Do you not see? He killed Greyback. He was part of the problem! They don't want people like us. But I know someone who does."

Rookwood paused, giving him a shrewd look.

"The Dark Lord offers another way, Solomon. A better way."

"What, blood purity?"

"No," he replied with a smirk. "The Dark Lord believes in _power_, Solomon. Power above all. And there is much he is willing to teach you - if you are willing to learn."

"I don't know–"

"You are strong now! One of the strongest wizards I know! Do you really want to live in a world where the strong are dictated to by the weak?"

Solomon was silent, and it was a long while before he spoke.

"No."

"Do you want to use your power, Solomon? Really, truly make a difference? Do you want to learn what you've been seeking all this time?"

This time, he answered with assured certainty.

"Yes."

Augustus' eyes gleamed in triumph.

* * *

A man in an ornate black robe wordlessly opened the door and ushered Solomon through.

The room held towering shelves of books, rows upon rows. The flicker of candlelight provided dim illumination A man sat in an armchair with a red leather-bound tome open on a small table before him. He was garbed in a simple black robe.

"Approach."

Solomon walked towards the man, who stood.

"Augustus tells me you are a Necromancer."

The wizard who stood in front of him exuded power - sheer, crushing magical energy - and made no effort to hide it.

Baleful eyes appraised him.

"A rare gift indeed."

The wizard gave him a cold smile.

"Tell me, what do I call you?"

Solomon paused for only a moment, then answered.

"I am Nazar."

* * *

A/N: Sorry to leave the cliffhanger unresolved. As per usual, let me know what you think.


	19. Echo Alpha

A/N: Once again, another short wait! As always, I really appreciate your reviews.

**XIX. Echo Alpha**

"England expects that every man will do his duty."

– Admiral Horatio Nelson

* * *

_London, present day_

Kingsley surveyed the scene before him. The Auror Office looked more like a makeshift triage centre than a law enforcement office. Disbelief and distress was evident on every face. Mediwitches attended to the wounded.

"I know that this is especially difficult for you all. But we must persevere. The security and safety of Wizarding Britain is our highest priority. Harry would not want it any other way," Kingsley said, his tone grave.

"I have named Siobhan O'Reilly as the Auror Commander. She will coordinate the Auror Office with the MLE, Ministry Intelligence, and the National Security Council. You will lead the defence of our nation."

Siobhan stepped forward.

"I am your Commander."

"We are yours to Command," Kara said, her voice wavering.

"We are yours to Command," echoed another Auror.

"We are yours to Command."

Every Auror stood to repeat the words, battered, bruised, but unbroken.

* * *

_Three hours earlier._

"…KEDAV–"

_Crack. _

William Jacobs never hesitated, throwing himself in front of Harry.

"–RA!"

The jet of green light hit William squarely in the chest, and the Auror crumpled to the ground.

_Crack_.

John Proudfoot appeared with his wand drawn, firing a vicious blasting curse at Nazar, who swatted it away.

_Crack. Crack._

Siobhan O'Reilly and Albion Stark appeared as Proudfoot began to duel Nazar.

"Get him and go!"

Siobhan rushed towards Harry, lying prone on the floor.

"He's not breathing."

"Ice him!"

Siobhan murmured an incantation and blue light dispersed around Harry's body.

Nazar fired off a series of sharp blasts, and Proudfoot stumbled as two found their mark. Nazar rushed forwards, delivering a stunning blow to Proudfoot's head with his massive fist that knocked him senseless.

"Crucio!"

Nazar paused, showing only discomfort as Albion's Cruciatus Curse struck him.

"You will need to do better than that, Auror. _Crucio._"

Stark dropped to the floor, screaming.

Ignoring the writhing Albion, Nazar turned his attention back to the groggy Proudfoot. The huge man placed his boot on Proudfoot's neck as the Auror struggled beneath him, and then began to push. Slowly.

Siobhan watched in horror as Nazar snapped Proudfoot's neck beneath his heel.

"JOHN!"

"Go, go now!" yelled Stark, gasping in pain.

Nazar fixed his gaze on Siobhan as she activated the Portkey, clutching Harry's icy body to her.

"No!" he cried with a shout, lunging forwards, but his fingers enclosed around empty air.

"They're gone, you bastard," spat Albion, who was shakily getting to his feet behind him.

Nazar turned and replied.

"No matter. They will join you soon enough."

* * *

A pealing bell rang through the reception area of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. One of the Welcome Witches on duty dropped the patient file she held in her hands and grabbed a two-way mirror, nodding as the person at the other end spoke hastily to her.

And then her face went white. She put down the mirror with shaking hands, and pressed a button on the intercom.

"_Echo Alpha! Echo Alpha! I repeat, Echo Alpha!" _

In the space of some twenty seconds, the waiting room descended into utter chaos. Mediwitches began marshalling patients and visitors out of the waiting room as three Aurors materialised from thin air, striding to different corners where each began casting defensive wards around the space.

_Crack._

Three more Aurors appeared in the waiting room, carrying a field stretcher - on which laid the dying body of the Auror Commander.

* * *

"Minister, I'm sorry to interrupt, but I need to speak you urgently."

"What is it?" Kingsley asked.

"We have an _Echo Alpha_. Harry Potter is near death," reported the undersecretary.

Kingsley's face turned to shock in an instant.

"What happened?"

"We don't know. The Aurors just brought him in."

"Where is he?"

"St Mungo's, arrived only minutes ago."

"I'm going there now."

"We don't know if it's secure!" the aide protested.

"I don't give a damn. Cancel the Wizengamot session and convene Cabinet at the Hospital."

Kingsley grabbed a handful of Floo powder and stepped into the fireplace.

"St Mungo's!"

* * *

The Healer held up a placating hand as Kingsley, followed by a hastily assembled entourage, burst onto the closed ward.

"Minister, I'm sorry, but I cannot allow you to enter. They are prepping the Commander for surgery now."

"Who's the Chief Healer?"

"Kai Booke, sir."

Kingsley gave a satisfied nod.

"I need to speak with the Aurors involved. Where are they?"

"Recuperating on the Special Ward."

Kingsley nodded and made to leave.

"If anything happens–"

"You'll be the first to know, sir."

* * *

Siobhan stood as Kingsley strode into the Special Ward.

"I'm sorry, Kingsley."

"What happened?"

"We got the distress call from the Hitwizard Squadron. Harry went after Nazar, and found him. The rest of us regrouped in London after cleaning up the attack in Birmingham, then followed Harry to Azkaban."

"And?"

"In the very knick of time. John, he–"

She choked back a sob.

"He threw himself in front of the Killing Curse."

"Damn," Kingsley spoke softly.

"Nazar is like nothing I've ever seen. He's huge, a monster of a man. I saw him snap Jacob's neck with his fucking boot!"

"Jacobs is dead?" Kingsley replied in disbelief.

"He tried to hold him off. Albion too."

"Fuck!"

Kingsley slammed a fist against the wall in frustration.

"I fucking hate this."

He paused, running a hand over his scalp. Then he turned and pointed at her.

"My office, in two hours. Be there."

"Yes sir."

Kingsley nodded and turned to leave.

"Minister?" Siobhan added.

"Yeah?"

"I don't know if Potter's going to make it."

"We must keep our faith in him," he replied.

"He cut out _his fucking tongue_. You know how powerful Potter is. And Nazar just…" Her voice trailed away.

Kingsley looked back at her with an expression that did little to hide his worry. When he spoke again, his tone was grave.

"I know."

* * *

"_Good evening. In this late hour, we bring breaking news. The Minister for Magic has declared the highest state of emergency since renegade Death Eaters led by Augustus Rockwood terrorised Diagon Alley."_

"_In a firefight with a dark magician known to the Ministry as Nazar, Auror Commander Harry Potter has sustained severe injuries. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement has flatly refused to offer any further comment."_

"_A spokeswitch for St Mungo's Hospital also declined to comment, stating that she could not speculate on Harry Potter's status. All we know is that the medical team assigned to Harry Potter has over one thousand years of combined experience–"_

A knock came at the door, and Siobhan muted the wireless.

"Ma'am?"

It was Kara. Whatever grief she was feeling, the young witch wasn't going to show it.

"Please, come in."

"Ginny Weasley is currently at The Burrow with her family. We'll be transferring them to a safer location within the hour. Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley will also stay with them," Kara reported.

"What have you told her of Harry's condition?" Siobhan asked.

"Nothing, only that he sustained injuries."

"She won't like that."

"She doesn't have a choice. It's not like we're getting any information out of St. Mungo's ourselves."

Kara handed her a stack of parchment.

"Here's the transcript of what we heard through Harry's headset," she said. "Oh, and you've got a meeting with NatSec in twenty minutes. Just came through. And this is from the Department of Mysteries."

"Okay," Siobhan replied, exhaling.

"Is that all, ma'am?"

"Yes. Thank you."

The blonde witch made to leave, but paused when Siobhan called her name.

"Kara, wait."

"Yes?"

"This must be difficult for you. I'm sorry," Siobhan added.

"It's difficult for all of us."

Siobhan sighed.

"I don't belong behind this desk," she said, looking around. "All this - all of it is his. It doesn't belong to me. I never wanted this."

"You must endure. For him," Kara said, her voice stronger.

Siobhan nodded.

"I'm going to need your help."

"I serve the Auror Commander, ma'am. Whoever he - or she - may be."

* * *

"This meeting of the National Security Council is called to order. I welcome the new Auror Commander, Siobhan O'Reilly."

There was a murmur of acknowledgement from around the table, and Kingsley resumed speaking.

"What I am going to tell you cannot leave this room."

He paused.

"Harry Potter was gravely injured in single-combat against Nazar. He is near death."

"From what we gleaned through his open comms line, Nazar once worked within the Ministry of Magic itself, as a protege of the Department of Mysteries," Siobhan said. "The Department of Mysteries identified Nazar as Solomon Nazari, a former Unspeakable attached to the now-defunct Paranormal Operations Division overseen by the traitor Augustus Rookwood."

Another murmur went through the room.

"Nazari completed magical schooling in Spain, but made his way to London shortly after to study further," said an Unspeakable whom Siobhan did not recognise.

"He was flagged by the MLE for seeking forbidden texts on Necromancy, at which point he also became known to the Department of Mysteries. Despite the objections of Magical Law Enforcement, Mysteries recruited him to further their own research. It was here he revealed he was a Necromancer," the Unspeakable added, then continued.

"It was a mistake. The academics in the Department expelled him, but instead of being cast out, Rookwood seconded him in secret. He lived deep within the Department for some three years training and completing clandestine missions. Sounds familiar? It gets better. He was placed under the tutelage of an Unspeakable at the Paranormal Operations Division, one with letter-name classification.

"You're not saying that the same X who trained Potter also–" Siobhan asked.

"That's exactly it." the Unspeakable replied.

"Merlin help us," exclaimed one of the Council members.

"From what we know, X wasn't wild about the Necromancy, but so long as Solomon only ever used it as a last resort, he was willing to overlook it. The young man eventually proved prodigious in combat and had a natural aptitude for dark magic. A mission went south, however. Complete snafu. Nazari became disillusioned and wanted to leave. That's when Rookwood recruited him into Voldemort's service."

"He trained under X _and_ Riddle?"

"Yes," the Unspeakable replied.

Kingsley summed up the feeling in the room with a single word.

"_Fuck_."

* * *

"_As Healers begin their fifty-third hour of surgery on Harry Potter, the candlelight vigil shows no sign of stopping. Witches and wizards hailing from all corners of the nation have descended upon the small community of Godric's Hollow - despite having to clear stringent security measures."_

"_We can barely move here, the streets are so crowded with people. It's nighttime, but on the ground it's as light as midday."_

"_The Ministry has steadfastly refused to offer any further information about the Auror Commander's condition. Sources close to Harry Potter have likewise declined to comment. The Weasley family, through a spokeswizard, have only requested privacy at this difficult time."_

"_It is unclear if Harry will survive this ordeal. But one thing is certain, of course." _

"_We can always hope."_

* * *

Kingsley looked at the man sitting across from him. Kai Booke looked beyond exhaustion. His Healer's gown was stained with blood, as were his gloves.

"Talk to me."

"He has significant scarring to his chest and back from previous incidents. That hasn't helped. At the moment, we're rebuilding his vital organs," Kai reported. "His liver, lungs, and kidneys were badly damaged. We basically had to sew his stomach back together too. I haven't even started on the damage to his muscles or skeletal structure…or his tongue. Four batches of Skele-Grow and we're only halfway there."

"How is he coping?"

"His heart has stopped three times. So, not well."

"Fucking hell."

There was a heavy silence.

"At what point do we end his suffering, Minister?" Kai asked.

"What are his chances of survival?" Kingsley said.

"Ten, maybe fifteen percent at this point."

Kingsley swore for the second time in as many minutes.

"I'll take the odds. If he survives?"

"Minister, even if he survives, we don't know if he is going to be the same person."

"What do you mean?"

'We cannot know what kind of damage his nervous system or his brain has suffered as a result of his injuries. Nazar's curse work was extensive. Whatever magic he used, it wasn't something Harry had ever encountered."

Kingsley was silent for a long moment.

"Do your best. Whatever it takes."

"I am, Minister. I just want to prepare you for the possibility that my best might not be enough."

* * *

Books were scattered all over the room. A dim candlelight provided scant illumination as a brunette witch combed through the texts. Her hand was stained with ink from where she had been scribbling notes on a piece of parchment.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?" she answered, not looking up from her book.

"Are you coming to bed? It's three in the morning," Ron asked tiredly, dark circles under his eyes.

"Ten minutes."

"Hermione, you're no good to him without sleep," he said, exasperated.

"I know, it's just–"

"Come to bed. Please. You'll work better - we'll work better - with some rest." Hermione sighed. He was right. She rose and took his proffered hand, thoughts of their best friend firmly on her mind.

* * *

Daphne Greengrass flashed her pass at the reception desk at St Mungo's and was directed down a side corridor. A burly Hitwizard stood in front of a nondescript door at the end of the corridor. He took her Ministry pass and referenced it against a piece of parchment. Then he handed it back to her and shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Miss Greengrass. The waiting area is for senior officials and family only. If you're not on the list, I can't let you through."

"Oh, I–"

"It's okay. She's with me," spoke a new voice. Daphne turned to see a young woman dressed in Auror robes approach. "Miss Albright, I–"

"I will vouch for her. Run the check, please."

The Hitwizard nodded and scanned his wand over Kara, then repeated the same gesture with Daphne.

"You're both clear. Head on through."

He tapped his wand against the door twice, and it opened with a distinct click.

"Thanks," Daphne said.

"Don't mention it," Kara replied.

They were stopped twice again and had to complete another security check before finally entering into a small room fitted with a row of chairs, a coffee table, and a couple of couches.

"Here's where I leave you. I have to report to the Healers," Kara said.

"Thank you."

The Auror disappeared down a side corridor as Daphne took a seat. She flicked through a copy of the Daily Prophet for a few minutes, before she was interrupted by a new presence.

"Oh," said a quiet, but unmistakable voice.

Ginny.

Daphne shot to her feet.

"I'm sorry," she stammered, "I'll leave, I didn't think–"

"Stay. Please," Ginny replied.

Daphne blinked, showing the faintest hint of surprise, and then nodded.

"Okay," she said, and sat back down next to the redheaded witch.

"I went to Godric's Hollow last night. Have you been?"

"No," Ginny replied. "The Aurors wouldn't let us."

"It's incredible. I could barely believe it. It's so bright. Busier than Diagon Alley during Christmas. There are candles everywhere, as far as the eye can see. Like a million points of light."

"It sounds amazing."

There was a long pause.

"How long have you been here?" Daphne asked.

Ginny gave her a rueful smile.

"Last two days."

"No Quidditch?"

"Cancelled. It's a security nightmare."

"I guess it is."

There was another pause, and Daphne began to regret intruding on what seemed such a private grief.

"I hate this," Ginny said suddenly. "I hate the waiting, not knowing…"

She didn't finish her sentence.

She didn't have to.

"Have the Healers told you anything?" Daphne asked. "The _Prophet_ hasn't been particularly forthcoming."

"His body is infected with malicious dark magic. That's all they've said. If they knew how to expel it, they'd have done so by now."

"Doesn't St Mungo's have a library with the sum of all human knowledge or something?"

"I wouldn't know. We usually just use Hermione," Ginny quipped.

Daphne laughed, then stopped herself.

"I shouldn't, it was–"

"No, it's fine, really," Ginny said. "I could do with hearing a bit more laughter."

Daphne nodded.

"Are you afraid?" she asked.

Ginny met her gaze once again, and when she spoke, it was barely above a whisper.

"Very."

* * *

Kai Booke slumped against the wall in exhaustion.

Seventy-two hours.

Seventy-two awful, bloody, hours. The blood on his robes was nearly three days old. He hadn't showered. Or slept. The stench of rotting flesh mixed with potion fumes filled his nostrils. He surveyed the operating theatre. A Mediwitch was slumped over in a chair, overcome with exhaustion. Two Healers sat over bubbling potions, sweat running down their faces. Another was scribbling notes on a blackboard, a stack of medical texts up to her waist. And in the middle of the room, four Healers had their wands trained on Patient One, feeding magic into his wounds.

If Harry Potter somehow survived, Kai would kill him himself.

He swigged Pepper-Up from a hip flask and stood up again. When this was over, he'd need a week of sleep. Maybe two.

A high-pitched beep interrupted his thoughts.

"Heart!"

Kai rushed over to the operating table, drawing his wand. He made a complicated gesture in the air, chanting under his breath, and pressed his wand to Harry's chest.

"Oxy!" One of the Healers tipped Harry's head back and poured a small vial of blue potion into his throat.

"Clear!"

White lightning burst from Kai's wand, coalescing over Harry's prone frame. After several long seconds…

_Beep._

_Beep._

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Kai looked down at the man lying on the table.

"You're not dead yet, you bastard," he said with grim satisfaction.

* * *

Hermione closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation, before exhaling slowly. It had been three days, and she hadn't come close to figuring it out. She'd been briefed by one of the Mediwitches about Harry's condition, but Kai Booke had drawn the line at allowing her into the operating theatre. It was all very infuriating.

And then…

Her eyes snapped open in sudden realisation.

"_No fucking way_."

"What?" said Ron, poking his head out from behind a stack of books.

"It's too simple," she said, getting to her feet.

"What is?" he said, perplexed.

"The Invisibility Cloak."

"What about it?"

"It's a Deathly Hallow," she replied.

"And?" he said, with a frown.

"He who is master of the Hallows is the master of Death," she recited. "The Cloak hides the bearer from Death. It's ancient magic, and incredibly powerful. We've barely scratched the surface of what the Hallows are capable of."

Ron's eyes widened in realisation.

"You mean–" "Yes, I do," she said excitedly, putting on her boots.

"Do you really think it will heal him?"

"It can't hurt to try," she said, grabbing her cloak. "I need someone at St Mungo's. I think I know how to save him."

* * *

"Healer Booke, sir?"

"Yes?" Kai answered.

"The Minister is here. He's requested you meet with Hermione Granger," replied the orderly.

"Listen, I already told her, I'm not letting her in!" "Sir, she believes she knows how to save Harry Potter."

"Where is she?"

"Just outside, in the prep room."

Kai strode through the double doors of the operating theatre to see Kingsley standing next to Hermione Granger. She held a shimmering silver cloak in her hands.

"What the fuck is this about, Granger?" he said, not bothering to hide his irritation at the young woman standing in front of him.

"The Invisibility Cloak. It hides its master from Death. Harry is the master of the Cloak. Theoretically, this might just work."

"His heart just stopped for the fourth time, Miss Granger. Now is hardly the time–"

"Healer, if I had a Galleon for everyone who ever told me 'now is hardly the time' I'd be rich. If I had another Galleon for every time I was right, I'd have doubled my fortune. Try it."

Kai Booke assessed the young witch in front of him.

It couldn't hurt.

"Okay. Scrub up."

* * *

Hermione paced the waiting area for the umpteenth time.

"Let me get this straight," Daphne was saying. "You just covered him with the cloak? That simple?"

"Yes."

"But, I mean…how?" "Sometimes the simplest of things can have the most power," Ron replied, repeating the explanation Hermione had given them as they'd rushed to the hospital. "Take love, for example. It saved Harry from Voldemort when he was just a baby."

Daphne shot him a flat look.

"Love is not simple, Ronald Weasley."

His retort was interrupted by Kai Booke as he entered the waiting room.

Ginny was the first out of her chair.

"Any progress?" she asked hurriedly.

"I have good news. His condition has stabilised," Kai replied, then looked at Hermione. "I don't know how, Miss Granger, but the Cloak is working."

He paused.

"He's not out of the woods yet, far from it, but he's fighting."

* * *

Harry's eyes fluttered open. He shifted slightly in his bed and winced audibly as his limbs protested in acute pain. He blinked twice, and a figure swam into focus.

Kai Booke stood over him, a scowl affixed to his features.

"Congratulations, Mr Potter. Despite your best efforts to the contrary, you're still alive."

* * *

A/N: Hope you enjoyed the latest revelations, let me know what you think!


	20. Dead Men Talking

A/N: Back again!

**XX. Dead Men Talking**

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.

Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure."

– Marianne Williamson

* * *

"Don't try to move too much," Kai warned. "You were in continuous surgery for some three days. Your heart stopped four times."

"Water," Harry rasped.

The Healer placed a cup in front of Harry and put a straw into his mouth.

"Slowly, Potter. Some of those organs you're using are practically new."

Harry drank gratefully, then glanced down at his torso.

"Cloak?" he questioned.

"Hermione Granger's idea," Kai explained. "We were able to heal your physical injuries, but Nazar infected your body with malicious dark magic - a virus of sorts. It was killing you as fast as we were healing you. I don't know how, but the Cloak is counteracting the virus."

"Hallow."

"Mmm. Miss Granger explained the magic behind it. That's a rare piece of fabric, Potter."

"Yeah."

"There are still traces of the virus in your body. We don't know how long it'll take until it's all gone, but we're keeping you here until it disappears. Open your mouth."

Harry did so, and Kai poured several drops of potion down his throat.

"This will help with your voice," said the Healer, before tapping his wand to Harry's forehead.

"Sleep, Potter. You've got a long road ahead."

* * *

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"We broke through the wards in the nick of time. Jacobs took a Killing Curse for you," Siobhan said, tears standing in her eyes. "Albion and John died holding Nazar off. We managed to ice you and activate a Portkey."

"_Fuck_," Harry said, despondent.

Suddenly, he coughed violently.

"Here," Siobhan said, handing him a glass of water.

"Straw, please."

"Oh, of course," Siobhan replied, conjuring a straw and placing it in the glass.

Harry took several sips.

"Did Kingsley appoint you as the Auror Commander?" he asked.

"Yes, but–"

"Good."

"I don't want it, Harry. As soon as you're out of that bed, I'm resigning the position."

"If Kai Booke has his way, that'll be sometime next year," Harry replied.

"There's not much else we can do. The National Security Council has suspended trading. The borders are closed. And we've got an embargo surrounding Azkaban."

"Only a matter of time before Nazar breaks it though," said Harry sullenly.

"The French Ministry sustained an attack on Rue Magique last night. Over fifty dead."

"_Merlin_. Nazar's people?" Harry asked.

"We assume so."

Siobhan sighed.

"Europe is a powder keg, Harry. And Nazar's the match."

* * *

"The official story is that you're survived, but face a long and daunting road to recovery. Whatever we put in the press will obviously make its way back to Nazar, so we don't want to give any information away that we don't have to," said Kingsley.

Harry nodded slowly.

"I need to leave St Mungo's."

"You can't even walk yet," Kingsley replied.

"Then wheel my hospital bed out. The virus is gone, Booke said so himself this morning."

"Harry–"

"This is insane, Kingsley! Every minute we waste is another Nazar gets. I need to figure out how to defeat him, and it's not going to happen whilst I'm still in a fucking hospital!"

The Minister assessed him.

"Fine. Name a secure location–"

"Auror Office."

"–that's not at the Ministry."

Harry paused, then answered.

"My place. Potter Manor. Hardly anyone knows it still exists."

"I'll consider it," Kingsley replied.

* * *

Ginny entered Harry's room, and placed a slice of treacle tart on the bedside table. Harry was busy leafing through a ream of parchment.

"What're you reading?"

"Just reports," Harry replied, his tone downcast.

"It's nice to be home, yeah?" she remarked.

"Yeah," Harry replied absently.

Ginny nestled herself under Harry's arm and placed a hand on his chest.

"Does that hurt?"

"No, it's okay."

"What's on your mind?" she asked.

"I lost three Aurors. For nothing."

"You couldn't have done anything else."

"I should have. I should have been able to do something."

"They knew what they were getting into. They believed in you."

"They were wrong."

"No, they weren't," she replied. "I know a thing or two about following you into hell, Harry Potter. They were willing to die for you."

"I don't want anyone to have to die for me anymore."

"After all this time, Harry," said Ginny, exasperated. "You need to realise that you're not the only one willing to die for what you believe in."

"I know, I just–"

"You want to make things right? _Avenge_ them, Harry," Ginny added. "They died believing that you would do that for them. Don't let them die in vain."

* * *

The Range Rover took an abrupt turn, leaving the road for a rough dirt track nestled between the trees. Daphne jolted in her seat as the vehicle sped along the uneven surface, splashing through puddles as droplets of rain pelted the windscreen.

"Sorry miss," said the driver, a young man who had informed her of two things: that he was a Hitwizard - and that this was the third time he'd ever driven a Muggle vehicle.

"It's all right," she replied, gripping tightly to the armrest as the vehicle made its way down the winding track.

"Hold on. Apparently this doesn't work unless we go faster."

Daphne swore under her breath.

The V8 engine growled as the Hitwizard put his foot down, and Daphne watched anxiously as the needle climbed.

And then, Daphne was hit with the keen presence of a magical ward as the Range Rover passed through. The car rounded another corner and the track smoothed out into a wide driveway. Up ahead, Daphne could see a mansion - not dissimilar to the house she herself had grown up in. Several other Range Rovers - all with Ministry plates - sat in the driveway.

"Welcome to Potter Manor."

* * *

Daphne was escorted by another Hitwizard to a large drawing room. A conference table stood in the middle, and a cluster of people sat around it.

Magnus O'Brien, the Warlock and legal scholar, sat next to Kingsley Shacklebolt, deep in amicable conversation. Siobhan O'Reilly and Tiberius Hawke were chatting quietly with Kara Albright, and another grizzled man dressed in Auror robes that Daphne did not recognise. Hermione and Ron were sitting with Neville. A witch and a wizard dressed in the robes of Unspeakables sat silently with their arms folded, patiently waiting. At the back of the room, Fleur Weasley sat with Ginny and a man with deep scars running across his face, who Daphne guessed was her husband, Bill.

Neville met her gaze and waved her over.

"Hey," he greeted.

She flashed him a polite smile.

"Is this everyone?" she asked.

"Yeah, just waiting on Mr Weasley and Harry."

As he spoke, the door opened again and Arthur Weasley entered, carefully pulling a wheeled hospital bed through the door behind him.

Daphne gasped, and she wasn't the only one.

Harry looked like hell. Dark purplish bruising covered his face, and half his head was swathed in bandages.

Arthur manoeuvred his bed into position at the front of the room and took a seat next to his eldest son.

"Good morning, everyone," said Harry, slowly sitting himself up in his hospital bed. "Some of you might be wondering why you're here - both old friends and new ones. Let me explain."

Harry looked at the group of assembled faces.

"This is the war room. We have only one goal. We are going to eliminate Nazar and his forces."

A murmur went around the room.

"Not all of you are Aurors. Not all of you will be fighting. You are here because I believe each of you will be able to help me in your own way."

"The National Security Council is in charge of the defence of Wizarding Britain. That is not our objective. We are the offence, the sword to their shield."

"I want to make myself very clear: by joining this group, you will become a target. If you wish to leave, now is the time. I will not think less of you should you choose to do so."

Not one person moved.

"Excellent."

"Harry, I feel like everyone in this room would follow you to hell if need be, but we must address the situation at hand realistically. You are in no position to battle Nazar," spoke Magnus O'Brien.

Harry gave a short nod.

"I know. But that does not stop us from devising a way to defeat him. I will heal."

"What if he attacks before you do? Your injuries are extensive. It will take time," the Warlock pressed.

"Then we will weather the storm."

Magnus gave a nod, but Daphne was unsure if he was satisfied.

"Who could beat him?" asked Ron. "Say he attacks tomorrow, Merlin forbid. Who fights Nazar?"

"I do," said the Auror that Daphne did not recognise. He had a mad glint in his eye and his teeth were bared in a grin.

"Rivers, at best you'd delay him," Siobhan replied.

"Aye. But it might buy enough time for someone else."

Daphne got the impression that Rivers was quite likely unhinged.

"Kingsley, you're probably the next best bet."

"No. I hate to admit it, but I'm out of practice," Kingsley replied. "Tiberius, you or Siobhan are the next best–"

"No," Harry interrupted.

"I will not have you throw your lives away needlessly. The prophecy names me. I have to face him again."

He turned to Siobhan. The witch looked around the room and cleared her throat.

"Here's the report Mysteries compiled," she said, passing out a stack of parchment. "Nazar is really Solomon Nazari - a former Mysteries operative who became a Death Eater. Studied under Riddle in the first war. Whilst he was part of the Department of Mysteries, he trained–"

"–under X. Nazar mentioned it," Harry added.

"We need more information about him," Hermione spoke up. "That's half the battle, surely."

"The girl is right," Rivers said. "Nazar is the worst sort of fuck. Impossibly powerful. So this won't be won with brute force alone."

Neville spoke up. "Surely we could negotiate–"

"These are people who only deal in extremes. It would be naive to think that anything less than extreme measures will suffice to stop them," Harry replied quietly.

"Then how about a Nostradamus Light?" asked Tiberius Hawke.

Half the room stared at him in shock, the other half, like Daphne, looked confused.

"No," replied Kingsley. "Besides, it takes months to manufacture a working Light."

"Do I want to know what a Nostradamus Light is?" questioned Bill.

"No, you do not," Arthur replied grimly.

Harry was silent for a moment, deep in thought. Then he spoke.

"Two things need to happen. First, I am tasking this group with drawing up an invasion plan for a coordinated assault on Azkaban. And secondly, I need to get to the Forbidden Forest."

"Why?" Hermione asked.

"I need to summon the Resurrection Stone."

"You can't be serious," Hermione said, alarmed.

"I am," Harry replied with utter conviction.

"You barely survived, Harry. You need weeks of rest. You can't even _stand_!" she replied.

"I don't have time. _We_ don't have time," he replied, his expression stony.

"Why do you need the Stone?" Hermione asked, concern heavy on her features. "What are you going to do with it?"

He grinned.

"I need to talk to an old friend."

* * *

It made for a strange sight - a young man with a scowl fixed on his features sitting in a wheelchair that trundled along a rough path through the trees, seemingly of its own accord.

"So on the night of the Battle of Hogwarts, you came into the Forbidden Forest?" Kara asked.

"Using this very path," Harry replied.

"Fuck."

The duo made their way through the trees, accompanied by Siobhan O'Reilly, Jackson Rivers, and Tiberius Hawke.

"Here," Harry said, and his wheelchair came to a halt.

Harry held out his hand and closed his eyes.

"Should you be using magic?" Kara asked.

"What Kai Booke doesn't know won't hurt him," Harry replied, his eyes still shut.

Suddenly, a small object shot out of the undergrowth and into Harry's outstretched hand.

"Merlin's beard! Is that really it?" Siobhan exclaimed.

Harry opened his hand to reveal a shimmering black stone, polished to a mirror finish.

"It really is," he replied. "Stand back."

Harry exhaled, then turned the stone over in his hand three times.

A man of medium-build with a close-cropped haircut and grey eyes materialised. He stared at Harry as if a rush of memories were flooding his senses all at once. Then he grinned.

"Potter."

"X."

"You did it, then."

"Yeah."

"V?"

"Dead."

"Rookwood?"

"Dead."

"And Creedy?"

"Very dead."

The man gave a smirk.

"You've done well."

"We don't forget. We don't forgive," Harry recited in reply.

The man nodded, and then his expression grew curious.

"I take it this isn't a social visit."

"No. I need to ask you about a wizard called Solomon Nazari."

X's eyes grew dark.

"Do not think harshly of me."

"I need to know. Everything," Harry persisted.

"I was working as the Master for Paranormal Ops - reporting directly to Rookwood. Pre-Riddle, of course. Anyway, one day Rookwood slides a name across my desk, says this kid needs training. That's all he is, really. A kid. A month into training, and I'm about done with him. He has the technical understanding of dark magic sorted, but he doesn't have the catalyst for it. No rage. I tell Rookwood as much and he reveals that the kid is a Necromancer. That his parents were brutally exterminated as part of a purge. That, of course, changes my perspective on it. I continue to work with him - but not on his necromancy. Rookwood wanted me to develop it, but I refused. The shit we did was bad enough, let alone…that."

X paused, his eyes far away.

"Solomon starts to get good. Really good. After a few months he's capable of giving an Auror a solid fight. I assign him to a strike team, assign them missions, all standard Mysteries procedure. And then shit hits the fan. Solomon's team is assigned to a mission that goes deep shit south. Aurors, Death Eaters, the Order - fucking Dumbledore shows up. Two of Solomon's team are killed, and a third one disappears. He wants out, and Rookwood releases him - or so I thought."

"Rookwood recruited him for Riddle," Harry surmised.

"Yeah. Right under my fucking nose. I create a killing machine for the Ministry and he betrays me."

"This is where our trail ends," Harry added.

X let out a sigh.

"I don't know what he and Riddle worked on together, but my guess is Horcruxes."

"You're correct."

"How'd you know?"

"We've met," said Harry sourly.

X gave a grunt, eyeing Harry's wheelchair.

"I can see."

"As you were saying?"

"Solomon works for Riddle during the First Wizarding War, and becomes something of a confidant. Riddle is fascinated by Necromancy, because of course he is, and trains Solomon into something of a protege. You know the next part: Riddle gets done in by a baby who can't yet form coherent sentences–"

"Thanks," Harry replied dryly.

"–and the Death Eaters flee. Solomon goes to Europe. In its postwar investigations, the Ministry turns the Department of Mysteries upside down. Rookwood's treachery is discovered and he's imprisoned. Someone - my guess is Lucius Malfoy - pulls some strings to spare him the death penalty. Trust me when I say that Alastor Moody and Rufus Scrimgeour racked up one hell of a body count after the war," X added grimly.

"Of course, my role in the Paranormal Ops comes under scrutiny, and I spend three months in Barden's Keep before they clear me of wrongdoing. They disband Paranormal Ops, but give me a new assignment. I'm to clear up loose ends. So I go hunting. Only problem is, I taught him to hide. And hide well he does. Not a sign of him for three years. Trail goes cold. With no results, the higher-ups pull the plug. Officially, the book on Solomon Nazari is closed."

"But fate is a funny bitch, and some time after I close the case, the Aurors find a broken, mangled body of a young woman in a Birmingham apartment. Raped and murdered. Nothing Mysteries would normally be involved with, but the Jane Doe just happens to be a Metamorphmagus. I run a few details, and discover that our Jane Doe is really a John Doe - a man called Jiro Hana, who served on the same strike team as Solomon. Jiro had a funny sense of humour in that he liked to change into a woman. One with looks that would make a Veela jealous."

"The magical autopsy concluded thus: Solomon hunted Jiro down, forced him to change, then raped and killed him."

"Fuck," exclaimed Harry.

"Seems like I wasn't the only one tying up loose ends. I renewed the chase, but off-book. It took another two years, but I finally ended up finding his base. Island of Poveglia, Venice. It's a right house of horrors. Hell, even the Muggles know it's haunted. We stormed the island by night, but Nazar was gone. What we found there…hell, I've never seen a more fucked up situation in my life. Rows upon rows of mutilated corpses strung up on meathooks like livestock. Some skinned to the bone. My worst fears had been realised. In the five years between the end of the war and my finding him, Nazar had been learning how to complete a Ritual of Life. Guess he figured that he didn't want to meet the same end as his boss."

"At that point, I called in the Aurors. A rogue Death Eater is one thing - one with Mysteries training and natural-born Necromancy is another - and when you add near-invulnerability to the mix, that's something else entirely."

"What happened next?" Harry asked.

"Largest manhunt in wizarding history. The combined law enforcement agencies of two dozen countries came to the table. Took, oh, three-four months, but eventually, we got a lead. He'd been amassing something of an army, and you know as well as I do that only small groups are good at keeping secrets."

"And that's how it ends," X added. "With our forces closing in, Nazar's group of Death Eaters went for an all-out stand. We loved it, of course. It was the most action the Aurors had seen since the war, so most of them were chomping at the bit. In those days, the popular saying was that the only thing that separated an Auror from a homicidal maniac was the badge."

"After a two-day siege, we break through. Solomon gave us the works - dark magic, Inferi, the whole lot. Took down eight of us like a man possessed. Then, Moody shaves one of his legs clean off. I got his wand arm. He's bleeding out. But he's still conscious - he blots out the pain like I taught him, and summons a final onslaught of Inferi. When the fire clears, he's gone. Fifty-fifty as to whether he's dead or alive," X continued.

"Anyway, the MLE gives itself a pat on the back. Even if Nazar is somehow alive, he's no longer a threat. Mission Accomplished. I go back to the Department of Mysteries, and the file on Solomon Nazari is officially sealed."

Harry was silent for a long time.

"Is there a way to kill someone protected by the Ritual?"

"Not many, but it's not impossible. For that, you'd want to have a word with our mutual friend."

"Thank you."

"Promise me one thing, Potter. You'll finish what we started."

"Or die trying," Harry replied.

X nodded in approval and then, like that, he was gone.

"Fucking hell," Siobhan said.

"You can say that again," Kara added.

"Wrath of Merlin must've been something else," Tiberius commented.

Harry gave the Aurors a grin.

"That's not the half of it."

He turned the Stone over once again, and another figure appeared.

The second man had an unruly mess of shoulder-length black hair, and shared the same somber expression as X. A series of runes were tattooed along his bare forearms.

"It's been a while, Potter."

"Y."

"What happened? After I died?" he asked.

"It was Rookwood. He hit X and I with his own Nostradamus Light."

"You're serious?"

"V betrayed us. She was working with him all along."

"You get them?"

"Yeah. In the end."

"Good man. What's with the wheelchair?"

"Long story."

"I have all the time in the world," Y quipped. "Literally."

"Had a run-in with one of X's former students. Solomon Nazari." "Nazar?"

"The same."

"I thought he was dead."

"I can assure you he's not," Harry replied. "Yet."

"Which is why you've summoned me from the grave."

"Yes. I need to stop him, Y, even if it means–"

"I understand," Y cut in.

"Thank you."

"I'll teach you - but only you," Y replied, looking pointedly at the other Aurors.

"Leave us, please," Harry said.

"Harry, you're in no–"

"That's an order," Harry replied, his voice even.

"Yes sir."

"Wait for me at the edge of the forest. No one - and I mean _no one_ \- comes in."

With matching salutes, the Aurors turned as one and left.

Harry turned back to Y.

"Let's begin."

Y nodded.

"First, you're going to need to get out of that chair."

"I can't."

"Then I can't help you."

Harry ground his teeth together.

"Fine."

Slowly, gingerly, he placed his feet on the ground, and pushed himself up. Pain shot through his limbs as his arms shook with the effort, before giving way. Harry collapsed into the dirt.

"Fuck this!"

"Rise."

"I can't."

"Are you or are you not the Auror Commander? Use your magic. _Rise_."

* * *

Jackson Rivers conjured a comfortable recliner and fell into it as the sun set over the Forbidden Forest. He stretched, and with a quick incantation, summoned a hip flask from a nearby tent.

"You know, he's probably been eaten," he remarked casually.

Kara shot him a flat look.

"What?" said Rivers. "He's been in there for two days!"

"Harry has not been eaten."

"There are spiders as big as your tent there in that forest, Albright. Your Commander's practically a cripple. Easy pickings."

"He's _your_ Commander too."

"_Was_. As I said, he's probably been eaten."

"I'm going to take over the watch," Kara announced. "Tiberius should have the MREs ready soon enough."

Rivers made a face.

"Awful."

"That we can agree on," Kara replied.

"You know what would make a great dinner?"

"What?"

"The Auror Commander," Rivers deadpanned.

"Are you quite done?"

* * *

Harry looked at the Resurrection Stone, small and shimmering in his hand. Then he slipped it into his pocket. His eyes met the wheelchair sitting in the empty clearing. He had not used it in two days. He reached out his hand and snapped his fingers. The surge of magic rushed through him as the chair disintegrated.

He inhaled deeply, drawing the mountain air into his lungs, as his magical energy coalesced within him. Harry drew his wand, and punched brilliant, blinding lightning into the sky with a yell. The sudden rush of power was exhilarating.

He laughed aloud, and with a _crack_, disappeared.

* * *

_Crack_.

"Fuck me!" Rivers said, shocked, as Harry appeared in front of the Auror's campsite on the edge of the Forest.

"Harry!" Kara exclaimed.

"How the fuck are you standing?" Rivers asked.

"Never mind that, how are you Apparating?" Tiberius said.

"What on earth have you been doing in there?" Siobhan added.

Harry held up a hand in a gesture for silence.

"I'll explain in due course. But I need to get back to London. We've got work to do."

* * *

"I give up, Potter," said Kai, giving him a look of exasperation.

"You're making a mockery of everything I know."

"Don't feel so bad about it, Kai," said Kingsley, grinning. "A week ago, his heart wasn't working. Now, he looks like he could run a marathon."

"What's a marathon?" Kai asked.

"Muggle thing. They run for twenty-six miles," Harry answered, sitting up from the hospital bed.

"That sounds bloody dreadful," Kai replied.

"So, what's the verdict?" Harry asked.

"Drink this, it'll clear up the last of the bruising," Kai instructed, handing him a vial of potion. "But other than that, Commander, you're healed."

* * *

Kara looked around the Auror Office, her eyes landing on Jackson Rivers. She approached him and cleared her throat.

"Commander wants you in Training Room One. Says he needs the exercise," Kara said.

"Does he now?" Rivers grinned. "Merlin knows I've been waiting for this."

The Auror leapt to his feet and practically ran out of the bullpen.

"He is far too eager to get his arse kicked," Kara remarked to Siobhan.

* * *

Jackson Rivers stalked out of the Training Room, a heavy scowl crossing his features. Blood seeped from a cut above his eye.

"What happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it," he said with disgust.

"He beat you? Already?" Siobhan said incredulously. "It's only been, what?"

"Three minutes," Rivers interjected with a scowl. "He put me on my back in _three fucking minutes_."

"You're joking," she said, handing him a towel.

He wiped blood from the cut on his forehead and spoke again.

"He's ready."

* * *

"Hey," greeted Ginny.

"Hey to you too," Harry replied.

She sat down next to him, watching as he lazily flung pebbles into the lake on the grounds of Potter Manor. The stones skimmed across the water, creating dancing ripples in their wake.

"Riveting conversation," Ginny remarked.

Harry paused mid-throw.

"Sorry."

"It's okay. What's on your mind?"

"You're not going to like the answer," he replied.

She scowled.

"To beat him, I have to go back."

"To Azkaban?"

"Yeah, but that's not what I mean."

She frowned.

"I have to go back to who I was - what I was - during Wrath of Merlin," he said haltingly.

She was silent.

"I can't beat him without that power," he added.

"I understand."

"You do?"

"Yeah. Like you said. Extreme measures," she replied bitterly.

Harry sighed.

"I don't have a choice, Ginny. I've got to stop him."

"Why does it have to be you?"

"Because no one - and I mean no one - can even come close to matching him."

"Why can't you just fight him with a squadron of Hitwizards?"

"We already tried that. "

"I'm scared," she admitted, resting her head on his shoulder. "I don't want to lose you. Not again. Never again."

He turned and kissed her forehead.

"You won't. I promise."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because you'll be here. And there is no force on earth that will stop me from returning to you."

* * *

"This is the mission!" Siobhan barked, addressing the large briefing room. It was packed with Aurors and Hitwizards. "A special task force led by the Auror Commander put this plan together."

"At 2200 tonight, a team of curse breakers will open a window in the series of wards surrounding Azkaban. The Auror Commander will target Nazar. The rest of us are to draw his forces out. We will attack in three locations, here, here, and here."

Siobhan pointed to a large map of the prison island.

"If Azkaban burns to the ground tonight, it had better be taking Nazar with it."

"What about the prisoners?" asked a Hitwizard.

"They have likely been released to join Nazar's army, or killed. All are to be treated as hostile. You are authorised to use lethal force without provocation."

"Brilliant," murmured Jackson Rivers.

"Once we have consolidated our hold on the island, we will need to prevent Nazar's escape. The goal will be to trap him in the main chamber, and support the Auror Commander if necessary."

Siobhan looked at Harry.

"If the Commander falls, we fight Nazar to the last man."

There was a murmur of assent from the room.

"As of this moment, you are all on standby. Report to your senior officers. Ladies and gentlemen, consider yourselves at war."

* * *

"Master, we've detected Ministry activity at the perimeter. An assault is likely imminent," Golan reported. "We have a battalion ready to deploy at your command."

Nazar wriggled his fingers before clenching his massive hands into fists. He stood, and exhaled slowly.

"Good. See it done."

"Right a–"

Golan stopped mid-sentence, and then, with a blank expression coming over his features, drew the knife from his belt and plunged it into his own throat. A stream of blood burst from the wound, as Golan pulled the knife from his neck and then plunged it into his left eye, once, twice, and a third time, before collapsing.

Nazar watched the death throes of his lieutenant, allowing a flicker of annoyance to cross his features. Then, he spoke.

"I cannot decide, Commander, if you are very brave, or very, very foolish. I fear it is the latter."

Harry materialised before him with a burning rage in his eyes.

"I'm not here to talk. Let's end this."

* * *

A/N: As always, please review!


	21. Genesis: The Auror Commander Ascendant

A/N: Thanks to you all for your kind words and thoughts on the last chapter. If you're new here, welcome! I'll be honest, after your feedback from the last chapter, I was worried I wouldn't be able to do the setup justice. I hope that this meets your expectations!

To digress, I want to address a point from a previous review: Hermione divulges the information about the Hallows to Daphne simply because she has Harry's trust. As to why Harry hasn't picked up the Elder Wand, you'll find out in this chapter.

Finally, with respect to the chapter title, the first three parts of Genesis are set during _Wrath of Merlin. _This part of the story has been a very long game.

But without further ado, I present:

**XXI. Genesis Part Four: The Auror Commander Ascendant**

"Wer mit Ungeheuern kämpft, mag zusehn, dass er nicht dabei zum Ungeheuer wird.

Und wenn du lange in einen Abgrund blickst, blickt der Abgrund auch in dich hinein."

– Friedrich Nietzsche

* * *

_Nazar_

At my signal, a dozen of my men rush at him from out of the shadows.

He sidesteps a Killing Curse, and another, then with a sharp hand gesture, pulls one of my men in the path of a third green jet.

Drawing his wand in a sweeping arc, he cuts down two more like wheat before the scythe. He reaches out, and another two are grasped by an invisible force that lifts them into the air, then slams them into each other with a sickening _crunch_.

With another gesture, he drags two more of my men from cover, and dispatches them with blasting curses.

"That's seven."

He flings another man in front of a purple jet of light, before parrying the hexes of two more who attack him in unison.

This is a massacre.

A lethal jet of flame explodes in their faces, and they fall to the ground screaming.

He barely looks back as he ends their lives with two pinpoint Killing Curses.

The rest turn to retreat, but to no avail. A red beam of light ignites from the tip of wand like a laser, and with two sharp movements, he shears the last of my soldiers in half.

"That's twelve."

He stands before me with a stony expression.

"I must admit, Commander, I am surprised," I say, raising my wand. "I broke you."

"You're not the only one with an insurance policy," he replies impassively.

"Oh?" I question.

"He who possesses the Deathly Hallows is the master of Death."

"You are delusional," I state derisively. "The Hallows cannot save you from Death."

"We'll see."

And so it begins, again.

* * *

He strikes with a bolt of white lightning, and I riposte with a lethal blast of my own. He deflects the jet with a wave of his hand, then unleashes a raging tongue of flame that lashes out like a viper. The fire rushes past scant inches from my face as I twist away to avoid it at the last moment.

There is an edge to him this time. Subtle again, but certainly different. His confidence is no longer borne from blind arrogance, but simple resolve.

He launches a torrential blast of magical energy at me, and I counter with a wave of my own.

No hexes, no curses - at least not yet.

This is a clash between two titanic wills.

In the distance, I can hear explosions and the din of battle.

He has not come here alone.

I launch a series of curses, and he shields against each, then lowers his wand ever so slightly.

"Tell me, Solomon. You fought X and the Aurors," he says. "After the First War. They nearly killed you."

"I escaped, at the last possible moment," I reply. "For weeks, I existed in stasis, between life and death. I had already successfully executed the Ritual of Life, but it takes time to hold."

My wand remains trained on him.

"I had an alliance with the LaLaurie clan," I add. "The matriarchs have long been Necromancers themselves. They took me in, and remade me - taller, larger, stronger. Giant's blood."

"And in return they had me breed with their daughters."

"You have children?" he asks.

"Yes."

"All Necromancers?"

"The clan would test newborns for Necromancy at birth," I reply. "If they did not have it, then they were put to death."

Anger flashes behind his eyes.

"I see."

He launches a lethal tongue of Fiendfyre, brandishing it like a whip, and with a _crack_, it explodes, sending white-hot flame rushing through the chamber.

I riposte with ice, sending a chill blizzard storming through the cavernous space, suffocating the Fiendfyre. The _rat-a-tat_ of blasting curses punctuate the air as he responds, following his spells with a storm of icy shards that rush through the air like bullets.

He uses the laser-like spell again, and a vivid red beam shears through the ice as he lashes out indiscriminately in his assault. Fist-sized chunks of rock rain down upon me like a hailstorm as the Commander gouges rock from the chamber walls. Debris fills the chamber as he amplifies his attack.

I cast another shield, and let off a series of blasting curses of my own, turning the debris into clouds of dust with the staccato beat of explosions.

I conjure a gale force wind that clears the battlefield, and lower my shield, as we both pause. Beads of sweat run down my neck, and he draws several short breaths.

"You claim to be the master of the Deathly Hallows. Then tell me, where is the Elder Wand?"

"I don't need it."

I smirk.

"I think you're worried, Commander. You're not sure you can win this, and that's why you're not risking the Wand."

"Cute theory."

He fires a stream of curses, each illuminating the dim space of the chamber like a rapid strobe. I twist and turn, forced to deflect each as he presses the assault with pinpoint accuracy.

The Department of Mysteries has taught him well.

He generates a glowing orb of electrifying magical energy, and launches it at me, then another, and another. In vain, I shoot bursts of light at the orbs, but they absorb everything I throw at them.

As a Quidditch Chaser throws the Quaffle, I create glowing orbs of my own, launching them ain return. They meet in midair, sending a vast shockwave through the chamber, as pulsating magic surges throughout the open space.

He shrouds himself in a cloak of darkness, and I do the same as we weather the blast.

Then, he presses the attack once again, with a broadside of curses.

I respond in kind, drawing closer and closer to him, as we engage in a deadly dance. Closer, and closer still.

He is like Icarus.

Once again, he has flown too close to the sun.

And once again, I launch my fist at his face.

* * *

"_AC has engaged Nazar. Go! GO!"_

A jet of light streaked overhead, creating a thunderous denotation as it blew a hole in the fortress walls. Leading a team of Hitwizards, Kara swung her broom around, and headed for the smoking crater, as the sounds of battle were relayed through her earpiece.

"_East wing, heavy fire. Requesting large. Three platoons, over. Some airborne. "_

"_Three-two, three-two, over."_

"_Three-two, three-two, out."_

"_East 100, South 200. Fire for effect, over."_

"_East 100, South 200. Fire for effect, out."_

The night sky lit up with a shimmering wave of brilliant red curses, arcing high over the fortress and disappearing behind it. Another earsplitting detonation followed, then Kara heard the voice of Jackson Rivers.

"_Effect is good. Lots of little pieces, over."_

Kara's assault team landed inside the corridor, and were immediately assailed by a score of Nazar's forces. A green jet of light slammed into the Hitwitch beside her, and she crumpled to the ground.

"Cover! Now!"

The team dove for cover, but they were vastly outnumbered. Two more Hitwizards were mowed down, with no losses from Nazar's men. Curses hailed down on their position, exploding against flimsy shields and sending shockwaves through the corridor.

"We've got to move!" Kara yelled over the fray.

"No go! No go! We're fucking pinned!" shouted a Hitwizard. "We can–"

He collapsed as a jet of light shot through his neck.

"Fuck!"

She let off a series of spells that granted the group a momentary reprieve. Crawling along on her elbows and knees, she reached a Hitwizard with a communicator.

"Call the strike!" she yelled.

The Hitwizard looked at her in disbelief.

"Are you fucking crazy? We'll be caught in the fucking middle!"

Kara looked at him, her face resolute.

"Do it."

* * *

_Harry_

I anticipate the blow, and bring my own hand up to catch his punch.

His fist crashes into my open palm, yet I barely feel it. But to him it is like punching a oncoming freighter train.

I feel his entire hand crumple as the bones in his fingers and wrist shatter with a distinct _crunch_.

He roars in pain, drawing back, and casts a wave of darkness.

I disperse it with a jagged blast of light.

"You're predictable," I admonish.

He taps his wand to his injured hand, and the skin convulses as his bones shift themselves back into place like an accelerated SkeleGrow. The pain must be unimaginable, but his face betrays none of it.

"Care to try that again?"

He answers with a blast of lightning, and I reply in kind. We exchange blasts of livid darkness, each crashing against the magical energy of the other.

He is relentless.

So am I.

Neither of us give an inch, as we battle in deadly symmetry.

And then, he buys an opening.

With a turn of his hand, his dead soldiers rise as Inferi, and launch themselves at me, each with the strength to tear me apart. I summon a surging torrent of Fiendfyre and spin it around myself - a burning maelstrom of seething, livid magic. It tears through the undead with a roar.

Nazar begins chanting, and shadowy silhouettes fall from his wand, first one, then several more, ghoulish figures without faces. Each is like a shroud of pure darkness.

I think of Ginny.

"Expecto Patronum!"

Blazing light rushes through the chamber as my Patronus appears. The stag charges down the shadows, and they each explode with a banshee-like shriek.

Too late I realise Nazar's plan.

The shadows were a mere distraction.

A demon-like figure bursts from Nazar's wand, like a nightmare from the deepest pits of hell. Beady yellow eyes rest on top of a long snout. It lets out a howl that reveals several rows of needle-like fangs. Wiry, scaly limbs give way to long claws, each at least a foot in length. A tail with a barbed end not unlike that of a scorpion swings restlessly.

Nazar stands behind it with a sadistic gleam in his eyes.

"_Feed."_

* * *

Siobhan was lifted off her feet with the force of the explosion. Nazar's soldiers had the vantage point on the upper levels, and they were making the most of it. A storm of hexes rained down around them.

"Fuck this!" exclaimed Rivers. "Cover me!"

The Auror sprinted out into the open, swinging his wand around with a roar, and unleashed a torrent of Fiendfyre.

"FUCKING BURN!"

The wall of superheated flame rushed through the upper levels with a lethal vengeance, exterminating everything in its path. The other Aurors broke from cover, firing a wave of green jets into the thick smoke.

"_Siobhan?" _

Tiberius' voice crackled over her earpiece.

"_Here," _she replied.

"_North is clear. Report in," _he replied.

"_Clear south. What about Kara?" _

"_They called in a hit and jumped off the west tower. Hundred-foot drop into the water. She's nuts."_

"_That's our girl."_ Siobhan remarked.

"_Siobhan, Tiberius?"_

The voice of a Hitward came over the com line.

"_Yes?"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_AC is duelling Nazar in the main chamber. You have to fucking see this."_

* * *

_Nazar_

The shining stag lets out a piercing scream as my beast plunges its teeth into the Patronus' neck. Deep claws rake across the stag's flanks as my beast drags it to the ground. With an earsplitting roar, it tears the Patronus' head clean from its neck.

The beast gives another shriek that blasts through the chamber, then rests its baleful gaze upon the Auror Commander.

Dark anger explodes behind his eyes.

"That was my father."

The beast rushes at him, shrugging off the jets of golden light that Harry blasts into the creature. It lunges, jaws agape, claws bared to rip him limb from limb.

With blinding speed, Harry dodges, twists, then reaches up and places a hand around the beast's throat.

And for a moment, time stands still.

Then Harry's eyes roll back in his forehead, as if in a trance.

And my beast twists its neck around to face me. Rabid flecks of spittle drip from its maw as it takes an unsteady step, then another.

And then I realise.

He has _possessed_ my beast.

It lets out another roar, and charges.

I holster my wand, and assume a fighting stance.

I will not be undone by this monster.

I am the monster.

I dodge as the beast lashes out, and deliver a stunning blow to its face. It swings around, and slams its tail into my chest, flooring me. I roll away from its claws, and drive a knee into its torso, following up with a high kick to its throat. It screams and draws back.

I attack.

I grab its jaws and pry them apart as the beast pits its strength against mine. With my arms trembling from the effort, I give a might heave, and snap its jaw. It gives a howl of pain, and lashes out in a frenzy. Its claws strip flesh from my shoulders and back as I throttle the life out of my creation.

Its barbed tail swings around and stabs deep into my side, once, twice, a third time, as I wrestle with it on the floor. It would kill a lesser man.

I am not a lesser man.

I gain the leverage I need, and press down, choking the life out of the beast. It thrashes about, wretched in its death throes. Once fearsome, it is now feeble.

And then the light disappears from its eyes and the Commander leaves his trance.

A wave of pure darkness crashes through my hastily assembled shield and sears through me, bubbling and boiling into bare flesh like a white-hot poker thrust into an open wound.

I grit my teeth, pushing the pain to the back of my mind, as I hawk and spit blood.

The Auror Commander stands before me. He has played his hand well.

I glance up. On the upper levels, all around us, Ministry forces are appearing. An Auror, bloody, bruised, but still standing, makes a signal with her wand.

The Commander gives a nod of recognition.

"Your army is finished. This is over, Solomon."

"Not before they bear witness to your death."

The Aurors duck for cover as I fire bolts of white lightning through the cavernous space. Pure magical energy sizzles through the air with lethal intent, exploding on impact. The Commander ducks, weaves, and parries the blasts with fluid grace.

"Enough!"

With a powerful thrust, he launches a jet of light that floors me, leaving a gaping wound in my chest. He doesn't stop, with two more curses that send me sprawling. Each one hits me like a shotgun.

I raise my wand, but again, he is too fast. He disarms me contemptuously, then hits me with a shrieking torrent of dark magic.

I collapse into the dust, my strength exhausted. My limbs tremble with extortion as I push myself off the floor. Coughing blood, I deliver a bitter, mocking laugh.

"Something funny?"

"You, Commander," I reply. "The joke is on you."

With a simple gesture, he levitates me a few feet into the air, then slams me back into the rough ground.

"What do you mean?"

"It was always on you."

"Tell me!"

He sends me sprawling once again.

"When the Spanish Seers spoke of a new Dark Lord, they weren't referring to me."

A frown crosses his features.

I laugh again. He doesn't understand, doesn't see, doesn't _realise_…

"You're lying," he states. But there is uncertainty in his voice.

"He who commands Death, and the Dark Lord reborn," I recite. "Who better to command Death than a natural-born Necromancer?"

He doesn't reply.

"A man with two lives, who from darkness was torn," I add, with another choking laugh. "Do you see it now? It's so very obvious."

"You believed that the three verses were addressed to you," I say. "You are mistaken. Only the last one is. The first two verses are addressed to me."

"Pay heed to our warning,Ye who command men. And go to the dark, to fight the Dark Lord again," I recite. "You are the Commander of men, who goes into the dark–"

"–to fight the Dark Lord again," Harry finishes the phrase.

"I am the servant who became the master - warned of the Dark Lord's approach," I reply. "But I was never the Dark Lord. That title alone, belongs to you."

"No," he replies.

"You know it to be true," I say, watching his expression.

"I don't believe it."

"The prophecy refers to a fight, Commander. But not between you and I. The battle was always between you and yourself. And here's the punchline: without realising it, you've already lost."

I smirk.

"You embraced the darkness to defeat me. And in doing so, you've become what you feared."

"_No."_

"It's too late, Commander," I say.

"You're wrong!"

"Am I? Can you imagine would they would say, what they would do, if they understood your true nature? Do you think they would fear you?"

I pause. The Ministry forces hang on my every word, engrossed by our exchange.

"You know they should."

I deliver another mocking laugh.

"You're no hero, Potter. No great saviour! You, the Chosen One? It's a farce, a _lie_, spoon-fed to an eager public who are too naive to know better. Harry Potter, the light against darkness…what happens when they finally realise that their greatest fear walks among them? Answer me, Commander. What happens when they finally realise that _you_ are the darkness?"

His split-second of hesitation is all I need.

"_CRUCIO!"_

The Cruciatus Curse hits him with everything I have, sending him sprawling through the air is his limbs convulse with anguish. He crashes into the ground as I slowly stand, drawing upon my reserves of strength to reinforce my dreaded curse.

"_CRUCIO!"_

Spasms shoot through him as I fire arcane magic into his body. The pain is so great he cannot make a sound beyond a wretched gasp.

He played his hand well.

I played mine better.

"You're a fool, Harry Potter!"

Around the periphery, the Aurors stir. Cries of shock and anger punctuate the space. A couple aim curses at me, each deflected by my shield.

"Where is your power now?!" I yell, my wand still trained upon him as I intensify the curse once again.

"_CRUCIO!"_

I grab him by the front of his robes and lift him into the air, drawing on my reserves of strength. If the Aurors defeat me, it will be a pyrrhic victory. I place my wand at his neck.

"Avada Ke–"

His hand shoots out and latches onto my forearm with sudden, impossible strength. With a sharp twist, he breaks it, snapping the bone in two.

"_I said, enough!"_

I release his robes, but he remains suspended in middair. His eyes are shrouded in milky black, and inky darkness rolls off him in waves, coalescing around him. The very air around him sizzles with the sheer presence of his magic.

He laughs. It is chilling.

"_I understand now."_

"Riddle was right…all this time. Light magic, dark magic - it doesn't matter. _There is only power, Solomon_."

Lightning dances around him.

I fly across the room as if hit by an invisible force. There is no curse to parry, no jet of light to disperse, no hex to shield. His power, his presence, is simply _everywhere_.

A green jet of light screeches overhead, followed by another, and another. I recognise three of my men - loyal to the last - as they rush at the Commander, firing a stream of Killing Curses.

Of course, it is suicide.

He moves impossibly quickly - a blur of motion too fast for the eye to follow. A brilliant flash of light explodes through the chamber as more rubble rains down.

When the dust settles, I look up. Moonlight pours into the chamber through a hole in the roof. The Auror Commander stands before me, floating in mid air. My men are nowhere to be seen.

I cannot believe this.

"What did you do?" I hear myself ask. I have not felt awe like this since standing before Voldemort for the first time, so many years ago.

When he speaks again, his voice is not his own.

"_I just sent them into the stratosphere." _

* * *

Kara paused at the edge of the corridor, careful to avoid putting too much weight on her injured leg. When this was through, the Healers were going to have a field day. She tapped two fingers to her throat, and keyed her com line.

"_That's the last of them,"_ she reported. _"Rest are KIA."_

The corridor shook with a deep rumble as an explosion sounded from the central chamber up ahead. A film of dust clung to the air as the group of Hitwizards accompanying her raised a shimmering blue shield.

"_Fucking hell!" _Siobhan exclaimed through the headset.

"_What's going on?" _Kara replied.

"_I think he just…he just sent them into fucking orbit!" _Tiberius added incredulously.

Kara looked back at her group.

"Central chamber! Let's move!"

* * *

The Aurors watched in awe as Harry reached out, and pulled Nazar's body into the air.

"_You wanted power, Solomon? Now…now you've got it!" _

Nazar screamed in sudden anguish.

"_That's Fiendfyre inside your stomach."_

The fire stopped as suddenly as it started.

"_I can put you through unimaginable pain."_

The skin on his face began to peel as if someone had taken sandpaper to it. With a sickening _pop_, his nose burst apart, leaving his face scarcely recognisable.

"_I can kill you a thousand times over."_

Harry clenched his fist, and Nazar screamed again as his spine splintered _inside _him, erupting from his back in jagged pieces.

"_But whatever I do, the Ritual will save you."_

Harry's eyes held an unreadable expression.

"_Crucio." _

Nazar let out an unearthly howl of pain, writhing in midair. Flecks of spittle frothed from his mouth as his body spasmed in excruciating torment.

"_You cut out my tongue."_

Harry clenched his fist again, and slowly pulled it towards him.

A stream of blood burst from between Nazar's legs as Harry castrated him.

"_You were challenging, for a time."_

Harry raised his open hand, murmuring under his breath, and conjured a shining sword. Nazar gave another shriek as Harry plunged the shimmering blade into his gut.

"_That's for Will Jacobs."_

A second sword materialised in his hand.

"_This is for John Proudfoot."_

The blade smashed through his ribcage and punctured his right lung, as Harry reached out with his other hand and summoned a third sword. Nazar's cry died in his throat with a rattling breath.

"_And this…this is for Albion Stark."_

Harry ran the third blade through Nazar's throat to the hilt.

The huge man crashed to the floor, choking, as dark blood spurted from his wounds.

Harry lowered himself to the ground slowly, moving through the air without effort.

"_I can't kill you, Solomon. Not without sacrificing myself."_

Harry waved his hand, and the shimmering blades disappeared to dust.

"_But I can make you suffer."_

A gleaming darkness emanated from Harry, cloaking his body like a shroud as he reached out again and rested a hand on Nazar's shoulder.

"_I'm going to give you a gift, Solomon. I'm going to give you what you always wanted. Immortality."_

Harry paused, and met Nazar's eyes.

"_I'm going to bury you alive, within the earth itself, forever."_

A mix of disbelief and horror crossed the Necromancer's face.

"_In the name of Merlin and Barden's Justice, the twin Guardians in the North, I, Harry Potter –"_

Harry exhaled, and walked _into_ the ground, pulling Nazar with him.

"– _under the power granted to the Auror Commander by the First Laws, hereby sentence you."_

* * *

Dragging Nazar's prone form seemingly without effort, Harry plunged his feet into solid rock, just as if he was wading into the ocean. The inky darkness enveloped the pair as they disappeared into the ground.

Siobhan wiped blood from a deep cut above her eye, looking on incredulously.

"Did he just–"

"Is that even _possible_?" Tiberius interjected, his mouth agape.

A long moment passed, but no one dared move. Suddenly, the ground rumbled with a series of detonations deep below the surface. Rock and debris rained down as the island shook.

"Shields!" barked Siobhan, and the Ministry forces raised their wands as one, keeping the rubble at bay.

Then, the shaking subsided, and from the middle of the chamber, the ground buckled upward. Blinding white light filled the chamber as Harry rose from the earth, the light shining around him like an aura. The dust billowed away as he emerged, resplendent in all his power; the Auror Commander ascendant.

* * *

A/N:The translation for the quote reads thus: _"He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. And when you gaze long into an abyss the abyss also gazes into you." _

As always, please let me know what you think!


	22. Victoire

A/N: Well, here we are. Two years on from starting _Auror Commander_, and it's with a heavy heart that I'm announcing that this story is drawing to its end. The story started with different intentions, and I'm very sorry to acknowledge that I didn't delve into Ginny's side of things nearly as much as I would have liked (did someone say 'spinoff'?) - or for that matter, Hermione's or Ron's. Having said that...

1\. There is an epilogue planned after this chapter (although you may prefer to consider this chapter as the conclusion instead).  
2\. I have several oneshot-length stories that I intend to publish in the near future that tie in with _Wrath of Merlin_ and _Auror Commander_. If you're interested, make sure you're subscribed to my Author Alerts.  
3\. Speaking of new stories, I hope to see you all for my next two works focusing on James and Lily, and Teddy and Victoire, set in the same 'world' as this one. They're not too far away!

Finally, I want to thank everyone who came along for the ride - and whilst there are too many of you to mention individually, please know that I've loved hearing all your thoughts and commentary on where _Commander_ was going. I got into this because I wanted to tell a story no one else was telling, and I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have.

**XXII. Victoire**

"Though much is taken, much abides; and though  
We are not now that strength which in old days  
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;  
One equal temper of heroic hearts,  
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will  
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."

– Lord Alfred Tennyson

* * *

"This special hearing of the National Security Council of the Wizengamot is called to order! Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats."

Thirteen witches and wizards sat at a crescent shaped table in the middle of a tall, narrow Chamber deep below London. Around the perimeter of the room, a sprinkling of Wizengamot Councillors, MLE officers, and Ministry functionaries watched the proceedings. The press gallery was packed with journalists and flashing cameras.

Ginny followed Hermione to two spare seats. Ginny recognised several Aurors - by face, if not name - sitting in the row behind them.

Harry entered, with Kingsley at his side.

_Flash, flash flash. Flash. Flash._

Kingsley took his seat next to Arthur Weasley, and Harry went to sit at a table facing the thirteen members of the Council.

A formidable wizard with a bald head and a thick grey beard stood and addressed the room. "Let the record state that Council has called an inquiry into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement operation to eliminate Solomon Nazari and his forces."

"That's Gregor Moran," explained Hermione. "He's Senior Warlock pro tempore on the Wizengamot, the highest ranking wizard in government after Kingsley and your Dad."

"We welcome Mr Harry J. Potter, the Auror Commander. Good morning, Mr Potter."

"Good morning," Harry replied stiffly.

"Mr Potter, in the two weeks since the operation in question, we've gathered over one hundred hours of testimony from Law Enforcement officials and eyewitnesses. Their reports make for compelling - and concerning - reading. As a result, this Council has called into question your suitability for the role of Auror Commander."

Moran paused momentarily.

"Should this Council find that you are no longer fit to serve as the Auror Commander, you would be required to resign your commission."

He looked directly at Harry.

"Do you understand?" "I do," Harry answered.

"Excellent. Let's begin. Mr Potter, the initial report from your Office offered a detailed overview of the operation, its undertaking, and your duel with Nazari. This Council has some trepidation about the actions you took during the duel."

Moran rifled through a couple of pages of parchment, then continued.

"To our understanding, you possessed a dark Summons, liberally utilised restricted curses and black magic, and tortured your opponent using an Unforgivable Curse at length. Yet you did not execute him, as per the orders set out by this Council."

"No," Harry replied. "Nazar was protected by a Ritual of Life."

"Can you elaborate on that?"

"I have a limited understanding of the Ritual, but it grants invulnerability from most lethal injuries or curses," Harry added.

"Your report suggested that only a Life Spell would eviscerate him so completely as to kill him."

"Yes."

"A Life Spell is ancient magic. Do you know how to perform it?"

"Is it relevant?"

"Please, answer the question, Mr Potter."

"Yes."

A murmur ran around the chamber.

One of the witches on the Council cleared her throat and spoke.

"Mr Potter, can you tell us what you did to Nazari instead?"

"You're well aware of what I did."

"Nevertheless, for the record?" she pressed.

"I sealed him alive in solid rock, some five miles beneath Azkaban."

Cries of shock rang out, accompanied by the cacophony of camera shutters.

"Can he move?"

_Flash. Flash, flash, flash._

"No."

"Is it possible he could escape?"

"No."

_Flash. Flash. Flash._

She frowned.

"What if you're mistaken, Mr Potter?"

"I'm not."

Hushed voices rose around the chamber.

"Order!" Moran barked, slamming his gavel down. "Councillor Hopkirk, your question please?"

"Mr Potter, can you speak to Nazari's claim that the Spanish Seers were actually referring to you when they prophesied a new Dark Lord," Hopkirk asked.

_Flash. Flash._

"Prophecy is open to interpretation," Harry replied. "Whether Nazari genuinely believed that I was the Dark Lord or just suggested I was as an act of deception, I don't know."

"Your best guess?"

"Well, I guess I could go and ask him," Harry replied impassively.

There was a resounding silence in the chamber.

"He's not fucking joking," murmured one of the Aurors sitting behind Ginny.

One of the witches on the Council spoke up.

"Do you think, considering your personal history, your recent actions, and your mastery of dark magic, that you could be perceived to be the Dark Lord?

"I don't consider myself to be the Dark Lord," Harry said, irritably. "I feel that's a prerequisite for the role."

_Flash, flash. Flash._

A number of the Council members openly smirked at his reply.

"Noted," she replied primly.

"That's Eveline O'Donnell," Hermione whispered to Ginny. "She's one of Shaw's biggest allies in the Wizengamot."

"Mr Potter, as part of this inquiry we appropriated a now de-classified report from one Kai Booke, a Healer with connections to the clandestine services. During Operation Wrath of Merlin, he advised the Unspeakable X - now deceased - and Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister for Magic, that your magical power, fully realised, would eclipse that of a regular wizard. Hypothetically, he suggested that you could wreak devastation, in his words, on a scale scarcely imaginable."

O'Donnell paused.

"Do you feel this is an accurate representation of your magical ability?"

"I think you've already decided it is," Harry replied.

"Mr Potter, I really don't think you appreciate the gravity of this situation," interjected Hopkirk angrily. "Ordinary wizards cannot do what you did to Solomon Nazari. No one, in all of recorded magical history, has _ever_ done what you did in Azkaban. And I know you think poorly of this inquiry, but forgive us if we're apprehensive about entrusting the command of our highest Law Enforcement agency to a living weapon!"

"Thank you, Councillor! That will be enough," said Moran placatingly. "I think it's time we put a pause on proceedings. We will convene a brief recess. This hearing will resume in half an hour."

* * *

The press pack swarmed Harry as he left the Chamber.

_Flash. Flash. Flash flash, flash._

"Commander, can you tell us more about your duel with Nazar?"

"No comment."

_Flash, flash._

"Commander, what will you do if the Council chooses to revoke your commission?"

_Flash, flash._

"No comment."

_Flash, flash. Flash._

"Commander, what do you say to the allegations that you–"

_Flash. Flash. Flash._

"–no comment."

Harry walked through the great iron doors of the Auror Office, and they closed behind him with a resounding thud.

* * *

"Welcome back, Mr Potter," greeted Moran. "We are continuing said review of your position as Auror Commander, in light of recent events. As part of the inquiry, we spoke at length to your closest colleagues in the Auror Office. Miss Kara Albright suggested, in quite colourful language, that your bravery was above question, and that the operation was well-executed. Miss Siobhan O'Reilly echoed much of Miss Albright's testimony, adding that you are the finest Commander she has had the privilege of serving under."

Moran paused, leafing through a stack of parchment.

"Mr Tiberius Hawke spoke in awe of your duel with Nazar, stating that Nazar was an exceptionally powerful sorcerer, and that you had no clear choice but to resort to, and I quote, extreme measures in order to defeat him."

He paused again, looking over his glasses at Harry.

"They are very loyal to you, Mr Potter. Perhaps to a fault."

"They swore an oath," Harry replied.

"Indeed," Moran said. "Mr Jackson Rivers, who, as I understand, is a long-range field assignee, was similarly complimentary. He suggested this inquiry was, in his words, a 'load of bollocks'."

"I also said he was a bad-arse motherfucker," muttered one of the Aurors sitting behind Ginny, to sniggers from his colleagues.

"Would you agree with that sentiment?" Moran asked.

"It's not my place to opine on judicial oversight," Harry answered smoothly.

"But you resent it, nevertheless?" Moran pressed.

"Again, I don't think it's my place."

"Noted."

"Mr Potter, how do you view your role as the Auror Commander?" asked another Councillor.

"My job is to do bad things to worse people, Councillor."

"The rough men, Mr Potter?" the Councillor replied, referring to one of Harry's previous speeches before the Wizengamot.

Harry grinned. "Yes, Councillor."

Eveline O'Donnell cleared her throat and spoke again.

"Miss Daphne Greengrass, who works in Ministry General Counsel, volunteered a submission on your behalf. Mr Potter, can you speak to the nature of your relationship with Miss Greengrass?"

Harry frowned, then answered.

"We're friends."

"But at some point you and her–"

"–is this relevant?" Harry interjected.

"It's not," said Magnus O'Brien, speaking for the first time. He looked over at O'Donnell, and narrowed his eyes. "It's not relevant."

"With respect, Warlock," O'Donnell replied, "If Greengrass is biased because–"

"Madam, this is the National Security Council! Do not mistake it for the editorial board of _Witch Weekly_!" Magnus thundered. A scattering of applause and cheers rose from the Chamber.

_Flash. Flash, flash._

"Order!" shouted Moran, slamming his gavel down again, as O'Donnell made to reply. "Warlock, Councillor, order!"

"Councillor, do you wish to continue with your line of questioning?"

O'Donnell pressed her lips together in a thin line.

"No."

"Warlock O'Brien?" Moran asked, looking over at his colleague.

"I have no questions for Mr Potter. For the record, I think this hearing is a farce, and that the Auror Commander should expect no less than the gratitude and respect of a thankful nation for seeing an end to a severe terror threat."

Magnus turned to Harry and acknowledged him with a nod.

"Thank you, Warlock," Moran said, his face expressionless. He turned back to Harry.

"Mr Potter, I appreciate your time today. I have just one final question for you, before we invoke another recess for our deliberations. Why do you believe you should continue to serve as the Auror Commander?"

Harry was silent for a long moment, and then, finally, he spoke.

"Time and time again, because of destiny, because of fate, because of _bad fucking luck_ \- call it what you like - I have stood in the way of overwhelming, unyielding evil. Riddle, Rookwood, Nazar. I fought them all - with or without the support of the Ministry. And I _won_. Despite the odds, despite the losses, despite everything, _I_ fought them, and _I_ beat them."

He looked out, and his expression grew dark.

"So tell me this: what happens?" Harry added, his anger now barely constrained. "What happens when the darkness threatens to overwhelm you, when death itself reaches out with icy fingers, and everything you know and everyone you hold dear is threatened with extinction? Tell me!"

He gestured with his arms wide.

"What do you do, who do you turn to, if I'm _not_ there?"

* * *

Once again, the Council members made their way into the chamber, and sat before Harry.

"Good evening, Mr Potter," Gregor Moran began.

"After a period of deliberation, this Council has reached a number of conclusions, most of which will be detailed in our formal report to the Wizengamot. However, I will state that this Council believes the operation to liberate Azkaban was well-planned and well-executed. Ministry forces suffered minimal casualties, and achieved the desired outcome. For their efforts, we laud the MLE."

"Mr Potter," he added. "We recognise your personal efforts in defeating Solomon Nazari, in an extraordinary display of magic. And we wish to thank you for your leadership of the Auror Office over the last several months. As to the matter of your continued service, be aware, Mr Potter, that not every member of this Council supports your ongoing commission. For them, you have much to prove. However, the majority of this Council has placed their trust in you, and as such, we will not be requesting your resignation as the Auror Commander."

Noisy whispers erupted around the room, but they died down when Moran cleared his throat.

"With that said, we seek to undertake a range of reforms within the Ministry's intelligence community and its law enforcement bodies. We look forward to your future cooperation and collaboration in this matter."

He gave Harry a curt nod.

"Thank you, Commander. That will be all."

* * *

"_Today's hearing marked the conclusion of an inquiry into the Ministry's operation to liberate Azkaban. In its findings, the National Security Council has stated publicly that the actions of all involved were exemplary displays of bravery and commitment in the face of an unrelenting threat to Wizarding Britain itself." _

"_The hearing revealed shocking new information about the nature of Harry Potter's duel with the dark magician Solomon Nazari - also known as Nazar. In the hearing, the Auror Commander revealed publicly that he had buried Nazari alive beneath Azkaban - prompting shocked responses from those present."_

"_Throughout the hearing, the Auror Commander withstood sometimes intense questioning from the thirteen-member National Security Council, who ultimately decided against rescinding Mr Potter's commission."_

"_In related news, several officers have been cited for awards of valour, and the Wizengamot Honours Committee has announced that Harry Potter is to receive the Order of Merlin, First Class with Bar, for his defeat of Nazar. This makes the Auror Commander one of only six wizards in history to receive multiple Orders of Merlin First Class."_

* * *

"Good evening," Harry began, clearing his throat. A small group of Aurors, MLE members, and their families and friends had gathered in the Auror Office for a celebration of sorts.

"In recent days, this Office has felt a keen loss. Albion Stark, John Proudfoot, and William Jacobs laid down their lives to save mine. I did not expect it from them. Defeating the man who killed them is scant payment for a heavy debt. We will remember their service and their sacrifice."

"We will remember them," those in the room replied in chorus.

"Now, another matter," added Harry. "It is my distinct privilege to present Kara Albright with her commission tonight. Having completed the theoretical assessment and practical assignments for her training, I welcome her to our ranks as a graduate Auror."

Loud cheers and applause filled the room as Kara walked up to the stage to accept a shining rapier in a woven red scabbard. Harry handed it to her with a salute, which she returned in kind.

Harry raised a hand in a gesture for quiet.

"Right, now that that's done with, let's get drunk."

* * *

Most of the guests had left, and only Harry, with the small cadre of Aurors, remained.

"So there we are, split from the squadron, and there must be a dozen of Nazar's men bearing down on us," regaled Tiberius. "Anyway, I yell at Rivers that we're outnumbered and that need to move _now_, and he just stands there, waiting. And then he says–"

"–outnumbered? More like a target-rich environment," Rivers quipped.

The group laughed.

"Sir, I have a question. What did Y teach you in the Forbidden Forest?" asked Siobhan.

"Well, first he made me get up off my arse," Harry said. "And then he taught me how to focus my magical energy directly into my soul, so I could perform a Life Spell."

"But that–"

"–would've killed me, yes. But that close, not even Nazar could have survived it - ledger or no ledger."

"If it had come to it, I would've done it. My greatest mistake last time I fought him was that I didn't have a last resort," said Harry.

"What do you think will happen to him?" Kara asked.

"I believe Nazar's ledger will run out eventually. What happens then is anyone's guess."

"What about the children he sired?"

"The LaLaurie clan?" Harry replied. "I've been in talks with the French. Seems that the clan has a base in the south of France."

"You plan to eliminate them?" Tiberius inquired.

"I've been thinking about it. The systemic purges of Necromancers helped to make Solomon what he became in the first place. We have to be smarter. I'd actually like to reintegrate them - at least the ones that we can."

"And if that doesn't work?"

A grim expression crossed Harry's features.

"Then they can burn."

* * *

"On the subject of what's next, at some point, we're going to have to do something about the Dolohov family," Rivers mused.

"Agreed," Harry replied. "Any plans in the next six months?"

"Nothing in particular."

"Keep an eye on them for me," Harry said.

Rivers nodded.

"Sir."

With a _crack, _he Dissapparated.

"How long before we see him again?" Siobhan asked.

"Oh, he'll get tired of waiting in about three months. "

"Ten galleons says he's back in two," Kara wagered.

"Deal."

Harry stood, stretched, and summoned his Auror greatcloak with an outstretched hand.

"I'll be in the Office on Monday morning. I'm taking the weekend off."

"But it's only Wednesday," Kara remarked.

"I'm having a long weekend," he replied dryly.

She grinned.

"Very good sir."

* * *

Kara Albright, wincing as she put weight on her injured leg, stood as Harry entered his office.

"I thought you weren't going to be in until next week," she said, frowning slightly.

"I can't help myself, it seems," Harry replied. "What've we got?"

"It's a light week. A couple of trade meetings, the Wizengamot reconvenes on Friday, and at some point the _Prophet_ is going to want to know what we plan on doing with Azkaban."

"Well, we're going to have to keep it. The Keep is overcrowded as it is. I might send someone I don't like to look after it for six months."

"I can think of a few names."

"Make a list and and I'll make a call."

"Sure thing," Kara replied. "Commander, I've been meaning to ask something of you."

"Go on," Harry replied.

"I want to stay on as your ExO."

"You're a graduate Auror."

"I know, and I'd still like to take on my own assignments, but…I want to be in the middle of it," she said, gesturing to the room. "This office, right here, by your side."

His eyes met hers, and then he nodded.

"Okay. We'll figure it out."

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

He turned his attention to a stack of parchment

"What are you thinking about?

Harry gave her a small smile.

"Tomorrow."

* * *

"How is she?" Harry asked as the group entered the waiting room. The hour was late, but it hadn't stopped the extended Weasley clan from assembling en masse at St Mungo's.

"She's fine. Veelas rarely have trouble giving birth," Kai reported.

"Bloody typical," Ginny muttered.

"Thank you for doing this," Harry said.

"For Mrs Weasley, it's no problem," Kai replied urbanely. "Certainly easier than Healing _you_."

"You'll miss me before too long," Harry said glibly.

"No, I won't," Kai said flatly.

Harry smirked.

"One of the Mediwitches will let you know when you can go in," Kai added, before heading off down the corridor.

True to Kai's word, a short while later, a Mediwitch came into the waiting room and ushered them into the ward. Bill and Molly stood by Fleur's bedside, and cradled in the Veela woman's arms was the newest addition to the Weasley family.

Harry knelt down to the small boy who held his hand.

"Teddy, I want you to meet someone."

Harry lifted him up onto the bed. The toddler reached his hand out to the newborn baby, and as he did, his tuft of hair changed from a brown to silvery blonde.

"This is Victoire."

* * *

The giant squid made lazy ripples across the surface of the black lake as the fading light of dusk caught the edges of the marble obelisk that served as a memorial to fallen heroes.

"It's nice to be back," Ron remarked, looking up at the castle. Newly-repaired battlements stood proudly as the last vestiges of sunlight glimmered off the walls.

"Harry's about to start!" shushed Hermione.

Harry stood in front of the assembled crowd, stretched down the lake in their hundreds, as far as the eye could see. He raised his wand and tapped it to his throat.

"It is my privilege to be with you all here tonight."

"Two years ago we fought with everything we had against the greatest threat that the wizarding world has ever known. And in the two years since, I've learned that wars don't end quietly. That some battles are not over when the fighting is done. And that terror can strike deep into every heart, and into every home."

He paused, his expression solemn.

"Shortly after midnight, Bill and Fleur Weasley - who were amongst those who fought here two years ago - welcomed their firstborn child into the world. Her name is Victoire. She is everything we fought for, and a reminder too, that life is a precious gift. To us, born with remarkable power, life carries the weight of responsibility. That power can be used for great, and terrible things. It is up to you to decide."

"See, I don't believe that we're born with our fates decided. I believe that we each have the opportunity to determine our own destiny."

"To those without hope, surrounded by nothing but darkness: I say this to you: There can be light in the darkest of places, there can be hope even when all seems lost. You need only reach out for it."

"But if you seek to destroy my peace, if you choose not to heed my words, then know this: I will find you, and I will _end_ you."

Harry Potter looked past the crowd, out across the lake. His eyes seemed to fixate on something in the distance, for only a moment.

And then, with a small smile, his gaze returned to the assembled faces - to his friends, to his family, to the woman he loved.

"I am the Auror Commander, and this is my vow."


	23. Legend

A/N: This is my 'nineteen years later', so to speak. I held one hell of an internal debate over whether or not to include this epilogue in the story, or submit it as a oneshot. And then I decided that I had written it as part of _Auror Commander_, and that it belonged with the story that I wanted to tell.

Many of you hoped for more scenes with Harry and Ginny in this final chapter - I'm sorry to say, it hasn't quite panned out that way. For those of you who did, I assure you that some of the upcoming oneshots will rectify this in part.

Now, a shameless plug: I have just published the first Auror Commander oneshot - _Echo Alpha_ \- and will shortly release the first chapter of _Phoenix Rising_. I hope you join me on those - the next journey.

Once more, thank you.

**XXIII. Legend**

"Do not go gentle into that good night,  
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;  
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."

– Dylan Thomas

* * *

"Commander."

He greets me warmly, and I reply in kind:

"Commander."

It has been a long time since Harry Potter sat behind a desk in the Auror Office, but the title of Auror Commander is one bestowed upon you for life.

One hundred and seven years have passed since Harry Potter defeated Voldemort. After his self-imposed retirement at the age of seventy, Harry spent time guiding reforms in Magical Law Enforcement agencies around the world, when not carrying out the duties of a Senior Warlock on the Wizengamot. Despite calls for him to run for Minister on several occasions, Harry declined, preferring to represent Wizarding Britain in the International Confederation.

He walks steadily still. His brisk pace does not betray his advanced age.

Still, thin round spectacles adorn his face, and although his hair has long turned to white, his eyes are still bright with a fire that will not diminish.

Of course, in recent years, things have changed.

Even in a world with magic, people do not live forever.

Time is the one enemy from which Harry cannot save his friends.

Ron Weasley was the first, six years ago.

Hermione Granger followed a few months later.

It was four years ago that Harry buried the love of his life, Ginny.

And just last year, Professor Neville Longbottom, after a storied tenure as the Headmaster of Hogwarts, bade his farewell.

The old Commander is the last of them.

He makes his way up a flight of stairs to stand atop the first set of battlements and surveys the open plain before us.

How would he take this fortress if he stood on the other side of the wall? What constitutes the best angle of attack? Where is the weakest point?

These are the questions I know he must be asking himself - for they are the same questions I am asking now.

He runs his hand along the granite, worn smooth over centuries. Even now, there is a loaded, restrained intensity about him.

Then, he smiles slightly, recalling a memory, and turns to me.

"Did I ever tell you about the Hellion Gate?"

I know the story, of course. Everyone does - how Harry held a mountain fortress singlehandedly - outnumbered one hundred to one - whilst waiting on reinforcements to arrive.

But I have never heard the story from him. And so I listen.

And I learn that Harry didn't hold it for three hours, he held it for three days. I learn that he killed every single person who attempted to take him on.

"Of course, I was stronger then."

I wish we had that strength now.

For we face the largest magical army ever assembled.

And it is here, at the Cold Keep, where we will make our stand.

What was once a haven for dark sorcery has become our last hope. The Keep houses a small magical community. Any witch or wizard of age will join us on the battlements. With us are Aurors and Hitwizards from across the nations of Europe.

We number some twelve hundred in all.

The foe we face number some twelve thousand.

It is our own failing, our own fault. The politics of isolationism and fear have wrought this great insurgency into being, and now the Horde threatens all of magical Europe.

But we have one thing they do not.

We have Harry Potter.

Three days ago, he came, his greatcloak billowing in the wind of the mountain pass that leads to the Keep.

I could scarcely believe it at first.

But there is no mistaking that thousand-mile stare.

The men speak of him in reverent tones.

He is the Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One. The Legend.

And with him comes hope - the slightest, faintest chance, that despite the odds, despite being outnumbered ten to one, they might just survive this.

"There will always be enemies," he laments. And he should know.

He's faced them all.

* * *

A group of Aurors, no more than fifteen, approach us.

"Sir. Sir," they greet in chorus.

Each is a consummate professional solider; each a battle-hardened combat veteran who has fought in the guerrilla campaign against the Horde.

"This is Wolf Unit," I say. "They are your personal command."

He nods, but the tightening of his eyes is enough to know he isn't happy about it. He knows as well as I do that the Aurors in Wolf Unit are his bodyguards, each under order to take a Killing Curse for a man thrice their age.

There is a reverence in their eyes as they introduce themselves to him. They bond over stories of Harry's past - from the fabled Operation Wrath of Merlin: _'what a fucking clusterfuck that was' _\- to the Shinjuku Incident: _'we had to chase the fuckers across half of Asia, and I haven't even started on the bloody dragons.'_

They will die to a man, if that is what it takes.

* * *

My slumber is broken by a sharp knock on my door. I check my watch, groaning internally. Four hours of sleep in the last three days.

"Sir, you're going to want to see this," my ExO says through the door.

I follow him up through the Keep, through the warren of corridors hewn into the mountain itself, and out onto the battlements.

I am rattled awake by the piercing noise of a brass horn, its discordant notes echoing across the plain before the fortress walls.

The Horde is here.

"Our scouts intercepted them several hours ago," adds my ExO. "Only good thing about an army that size, it's bloody difficult to hide.

I watch as the great dark mass of their soldiers slowly makes its way over the horizon towards us. A series of screeches fill the air.

"Fuck, they've got dragons!" exclaims one of my Aurors.

"And giants too," I add, squinting to see several large, meandering figures high above the masses.

"Well, it's nice to have company," Harry remarks dryly, joining us on the battlements.

"What are your thoughts?"

He glances at his watch.

"It'll take them the rest of the day to assemble. Put as many to sleep as you can. If they attack tonight, we want our forces well-rested."

I nod in agreement. His thoughts echo my own. I turn to my ExO.

"Send word to the captains and the squadron leaders. We meet in half an hour. Sound the skeleton watch. Put as many men as possible in the dorms until evening."

* * *

"Are the traps laid?" I ask.

"Not as many as we'd like, but they'll be in for a few nasty surprises."

I nod, and shift my focus to my next lieutenant. No facet of the Keep's defence is too insignificant to escape attention. Everyone in the room knows the price of even the smallest mistake.

"What about the gate?"

One of my Aurors clears her throat and speaks.

"Reinforced threefold. We anticipate that they'll try to use their giants to force through it."

"If they do?"

"Gate Command has two hundred wands on the ground," she replies. "They won't make it far."

"Infirmary?"

"Fully stocked, and we've got more potions brewing," advises one of the Healers. "Medical stations are on all three levels."

"Wards?"

"Likewise, reinforced. We should be able to sustain them against a prolonged attack. And there's no way to Apparate or use a Portkey to get in."

I stand, and the group of wizards and witches stand with me.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it's been an honour."

* * *

After the war meeting, I make my way to the battlements again.

Harry is waiting, his simple robes embellished with the Auror standard-issue dragon-hide armour. It glints in the afternoon sun.

"What do they make these from now?" he asks.

"Hungarian Horntail."

He grins.

"Figures."

Another brassy horn rings out, as the last stragglers from the Horde begin to arrive on the plain before the walls. Before long it will become as designed: a killing field.

"Should be a nice little fight," Harry remarks.

"Yeah."

He assesses me, with his piercing green eyes behind thin spectacles. It is impossible to tell what he is thinking.

"Are you ready?"

I nod.

* * *

They attack at dusk on the first day.

As the sun blinks out behind the horizon, a thousand jets of light burst from the black horde. The brilliant beams of light soar high into the sky, in an elegant arc, before streaking down upon the Keep with an eerie howl.

"Brace yourselves!" I shout, and the call is echoed down the line.

An almighty explosion rocks the mountainsides as the light crashes against the golden wards that protect the battlements.

The Cold Keep will not fall so easily.

But the jets of light come again and again, in a relentless wave, each sending a cataclysmic boom through the mountain pass as they crash against the golden wall.

Still, the wards hold.

I turn to one of my lieutenants.

"How long?"

"Twenty minutes, maybe half-an-hour."

"Fuck."

"We can start rebuilding and reinforcing them, but it'll only prolong the inevitable."

The wards are a matter of attrition, pure and simple.

"Focus the wards on the gate and Walls Two and Three," I order, to my officer's shock.

"It'll leave the first wall exposed! Commander, this is madness!"

Harry interjects.

"Let them come."

* * *

I watch with bated breath as the volley of jets from the Horde crash through the wards protecting the first wall.

"Shields!"

The soldiers manning Wall One cast a series of magical shields as the wave of magic crashes down amongst them. Soldiers fall from the battlements as magic explodes in the very air around them, gouging chunks of rock from the very walls. Dust and debris cloud the air, and through the haze and smoke I hear the screams of the wounded.

It is carnage.

"Fuck!" I exclaim, again.

I turn to Harry, but the old man is nowhere to be seen.

"Where did Potter go?"

One of my command points to the first wall.

"Down there."

A great shout arises from the masses of the Horde, and they begin their advance. Then suddenly, an brilliant bolt of white lightning launches from our walls, blowing a crater amidst their frontmost ranks. Another bolt quickly follows, as our soldiers let out a shout of defiance.

And for the very first time, I dare to hope.

* * *

He goes where the fighting is fiercest, is thickest.

He is a maelstrom wrapped around a hurricane.

The invaders are repelled without hesitation, without mercy.

His attacks are precise and always lethal. In many cases, he simply overwhelms his opponents with sheer magical energy, carving through their defences before following his attack with a pinpoint jet of green light.

Late into the night, the Horde attempt an airborne assault on the Keep, with hundreds of their number taking to the sky on brooms.

Harry launches himself into the sky to take them on, magical energy crackling in the air around him.

They don't realise until it is too late.

Lightning is faster than a broomstick.

The most powerful of our number join him, and the night sky is lit bright by the flashes of deadly white lightning as we strike down our foe.

They fall like flies.

Around midnight, a series of horns sound out across the plain, and the Horde falls back. We have survived the first night.

Two of the Aurors from Wolf Unit support Harry as he lands. His face is drenched with sweat and covered in the grime of battle. The total exhaustion on his face is plain to see, but it is joined by a grim resolve.

He meets my eye, and although his voice is hoarse, he declares for all around us to hear:

"They will pay for every inch with blood."

* * *

The second night comes with another assault. A great roar comes from the Horde as a contingent of giants storm the walls, followed by a heaving black mass of soldiers.

Our volleys of curses slow the wizards and witches of the Horde, but do little to stop the giants, as jets of light glance off their hides. Sensing an opening, the Horde press their advantage, and before long, they have several footholds on the first wall.

Harry leaps into the air, using magic to propel himself, and lands on a giant's shoulder, before jumping again to land atop of its head. He grabs a handhold of scraggly hair, and points his wand downwards, directly at the giant's skull. With a _crack _that echoes across the plain, Harry _splits_ the giant's head apart, then leaps from it as it crashes to the ground, writhing in its death throes.

I am convinced that Harry Potter cannot die.

The Aurors of Wolf Unit shield him from a flurry of curses as he draws a deep breath, then makes a gesture with his wand, one recognised the world over.

_Swish and flick._

One of the giants battering at the gate finds itself being _levitated_ into the air, twisting and turning as it thrashes about, unable to comprehend how it has unexpectedly gained the ability to fly. There is a lull in the fighting as many on both sides watch the fight, incredulous at Harry's display of magical prowess.

Harry's outstretched hand suddenly clenches into a fist, and the giant's neck _snaps _with a grotesque movement. Harry unclenches his fist, and the giant plummets to the ground with a thud.

It is the spark my forces need. Another two giants crash to the ground, brought down by a blizzard of spellfire, and a third, pummelling against the iron gates of the Keep, suddenly finds both hands shorn off at the wrist with a wicked tongue of dark magic unleashed from Harry's wand. Inches at a time, we repel the assault.

Two hours past midnight, the horns sound, and once again, the Horde retreats, leaving scores of their dead behind. Not one of their giants has survived. Their bodies lie strewn in great heaps before the walls.

Wolf Unit return to the Keep, their expressions cold and somber even in victory. Two of their number are dead, one crushed beneath a giant, another taking a Killing Curse in Harry's stead. Again, slowly, they help him make his way to the infirmary.

There is a frailty in him that I have not seen before. The looks I receive from the Healers speak volumes. This battle is taking an irreversible toll on a man who is over a century old.

I am convinced that Harry Potter cannot die.

But perhaps he has come here to try.

* * *

On the third day, they pull out their hostages, our men and women, taken from the battlefield. Each is nailed to a tall stake, far enough from spell range, but on display for all to see.

The poor bastards are subjected to the Cruciatus Curse, again and again, and their screams of agony ring loud before the fortress walls.

With Wolf Unit gathered around him, Harry watches the spectacle, his mouth drawn in a grim line. An anger that I have never seen before burns behind the old man's eyes.

He draws his wand, and closes both eyes, letting the magic guide him.

"Avada Kedavra," he intones.

The brilliant green bolt of light bursts from his wand, like a bullet from a sniper, and screams of the first hostage are silenced.

It is a statement that is lost on no one.

* * *

When they attack on the third night, he is the first to leap over the battlements. He brandishes black lightning like a whip, drawing upon his terrible mastery of the arcane. And with his dark magic, he does not kill. He _eviscerates_.

They fall before him like wheat before the scythe. Cold, unstoppable, deadly.

Wolf Unit protects his flanks, parrying and shielding the near-constant stream of curses meant for the old Commander.

They understand the bleak reality. To lose Harry Potter would be a devastating blow to morale; so they will die in his place.

Five Aurors from the Unit die on that third night.

The number that fall before Harry's wand is far too many to count.

* * *

Only a few hours of night remain when the Horde finally halts their attack. Our own forces fall back behind the walls of the Keep.

Harry collapses as the remnants of Wolf Unit haul him over the battlements. Healers rush to him, casting a blue aura around his body, and tip several vials of coloured potion down his throat. They stretcher him to the infirmary, which is sickly with the scent of death.

We have suffered a heavy price.

A full third of our number are casualties - injured or dead. And whilst the enemy dead are far greater, so too are their remaining fighters. We estimate at least half are yet to even draw their wands.

But that is about to change.

In the cold light before dawn on the fourth day, the Horde renews the assault, and this time, they bring the entirety of their force to bear.

Anyone who can stand takes to the battlements, but Harry is not with us.

His absence speaks louder than words.

Again, the Horde press the attack, with fresh forces unburdened by the weariness of battle.

It is too much.

They swarm the first wall, and we fight for three hours in desperate combat before I call the retreat to Wall Two.

Here, we hold.

The Cold Keep was designed with three walls, each higher than the last, and between each, no easy escape. From our vantage point on the second wall, we turn the the first level into a slaughterhouse.

Yet even as the bodies pile up, the Horde keep up the attack.

* * *

The moon is high when they finally call off the assault, but few of us sleep. The rotting stench of the dead pervades the air.

I relay the news to Harry, who has awoken. The Healers have not cleared him for combat, but not one of them is going to stop him.

"How many?"

"Of theirs? It must be a thousand, maybe more. They just kept coming."

Harry frowns, and then alarm crosses his features.

"Destroy the bodies. Do it now."

I realise their strategy too late.

"Motherfucker…"

They mean to turn their dead into Inferi.

"Commander!"

A lieutenant, his arm wrapped in a sling, dashes into the ward, a haunted look in his eye.

"The dead, they're–"

"Fiendfyre," Harry interjects, voicing what I am thinking aloud.

"We risk losing the second wall," replies the lieutenant.

"Then fall back to Wall Three," I reply. "See it done. And get every able Auror to Wall Two."

Harry swings his legs out of the infirmary bed, and stands.

"Harry–" I begin.

"You said every able Auror," he replies, leaving no room for argument.

* * *

We drench their dead in livid fire, letting off a cloud of acrid smoke that piles high into the sky.

But for the second time, we have played unwittingly into their hands.

They unleash their dragons, drawn by the allure of our fire, and launch another wave of attacks on the Keep.

The screams of men fill the air as the dragons wreak havoc, clawing our forces from the battlements, and blasting the walls with torrid flames. Behind them, the Horde renew their assault with a withering storm of curses.

Harry watches.

And then his expression changes. Resignation becomes acceptance, and then steely resolve.

He speaks quietly.

"Then it is done."

He reaches out a hand, and cold, icy death reaches out with him. With a sound that I will never forget, one of the dragons crashes to earth, screeching in agony as Harry throttles its life away.

He does this three times before the rest of the great beasts flee.

With only a small group of Aurors around him, Harry leads an assault to retake Wall Two. The battlements become slick with blood as streaks of light sever hands from limbs, blast through flesh and bone, and wreak death and destruction upon the invaders. Using magic to fuel his assault, Harry unleashes spells nearly too fast for the eye to follow. His wand and hand movements are a blur.

And still they rush him, determined to defeat the greatest, determined to end the legend.

One breaks through the cascade of magic, and a jet of purple light slams into Harry's side. He grimaces, then looks up with a snarl. The old man reaches out, grabbing his assailant by the hair, and puts a blasting curse between his eyeballs.

Still, they come.

* * *

On the morning of the fifth day, it ends.

As dawn rises over the mountaintops, and early sunlight gleams off proud walls stained with fire and blood, it ends.

Only a handful of us remain on Wall Two, surrounded on all sides by the dead, both friend and foe. From my position down the line, I watch as Harry looks out into a sea of black, of untold numbers of soldiers dotted against the plain, still waiting for the command to attack.

He closes his emerald eyes for a moment, and visibly exhales.

When he opens them, they are pitch black.

He points his wand to the sky, wielding it with two hands.

He incants no words. He mastered non-verbal spells long ago.

A beam of red light shoots into the sky, and disappears amongst the heady clouds.

There is another lull in the fighting, as every eye on the battlefield tracks the beam of light as it ascends.

But then nothing happens.

The jeers of the Horde come quickly.

They think he has failed. My heart sinks in bitter disappointment.

Harry Potter simply stands there.

Then, I realise.

He hasn't failed.

He is _waiting_.

For the old man still has one last trick up his sleeve.

And then, with a cataclysmic roar that threatens to overwhelm my senses, the sky itself is torn asunder.

Hellfire rains from the heavens.

The sky is _burning_.

It is the end of the world.

As far as the eye can see, livid, raging fire blots out the blue, as seething Fiendfyre pours down from the sky above.

The Auror Commander stands high on the battlements, with the dead strewn around him, as the impossible inferno surges through the Horde. Blood seeps from his wounds, running down his face from a deep cut across his head, a long gash on his arm, to a gaping hole in his side.

And now, I finally understand.

All this time, he has been _holding back_.

With limbs shaking from inconceivable effort, Harry brings his hands down, and pushes his wand out directly in front of him. He lets out a yell that echoes across mountains.

And turns the raging firestorm into a tsunami.

Incinerating everything in its wake, the tidal wave of magical fire blasts inexorably down the open plain before the Keep.

We watch, speechless, in fear and awe, as the black masses of the Horde are decimated by unyielding Fiendfyre.

It is devastation on an unimaginable scale.

And only once the fifty-foot flames have died to embers, and the acrid stench of death fills the air, does Harry let his wand fall with a clatter to the ground.

Then, he follows it, crumpling to a heap on the ramparts.

* * *

As thick ash floats through the air, a crowd gathers around him, and I push my way through.

"How the fuck did you do that?" I ask.

"I couldn't tell you."

His eyes close, then open - green once again.

Someone yells for a medic, but Harry raises a placating hand.

"It's time," he says, and there is a weariness that I have not heard before, paired with a sudden yearning, like someone is waiting for him, someone whom he hasn't seen for a long while.

I take his hand, but his grasp is feeble. What strength he had is gone, taken by a sacrifice beyond our comprehension.

"No…Commander…" I choke.

He manages a half-smile.

Tears stand in his eyes.

"_Ginny…" _his voice trails off with a whisper, and his eyes flutter shut. The reassuring presence of his magical energy suddenly disappears, and there, surrounded by corpses that litter broken battlements and scorched earth, Harry Potter breathes his last.

As if in a daze, we gather our survivors, and rout the scant remnants of the Horde, brought to its knees by magic the world will never see again.

Our celebrations are muted as we collect our dead, and send home word of our impossible victory.

For we have lost a titan.

* * *

We receive a heroes welcome on our return to London.

After the press have their photos and their stories I gratefully retreat behind the great iron doors of the Auror Office.

I take my seat - his seat - and rest my hands on the desk - his desk. His presence, his memory, is everywhere - even more now, that he has gone.

I hear a knock, and my ExO enters, holding an envelope which he hands to me.

"Sir, this is for you. It's from the Potter family."

I tap it with my wand and it magically unseals, revealing a letter.

_Dear Commander, _it begins.

_If you are reading this, then my death has come to pass, and it is time to hand one of the Deathly Hallows into your care._

_The power of the Elder Wand has died with me - as intended, and the wand itself remains sealed in the tomb of Albus Dumbledore on Hogwarts grounds. The Invisibility Cloak is in the worthy possession of my eldest son, James Sirius. It will remain the property of my household._

_To the Auror Office, I bequeath the Resurrection Stone. There is no safer place for it. It has provided useful counsel over the years, but like all great power - be wary - and be wiser than I was. To access it, simply say the words written on the back of this letter._

_Now, I have a train to catch._

_Faithfully yours,_

_Harry J. Potter  
__Auror Commander_

With a heavy feeling in my chest, I turn the letter over, and say the words written in Harry's unmistakable scrawl.

"I open at the close."

—

THE END


End file.
